


The Honeymoon

by dracosoftie



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-17
Updated: 2020-04-20
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:35:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 19
Words: 64,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23703214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dracosoftie/pseuds/dracosoftie
Summary: Ginny stands Harry up at the altar, leaving him miserable and confused. Enter one Draco Malfoy, solicitor, who manages to muddy the situation even more when he and Harry get marooned on an island. Warnings for slash, explicit sexual content and language.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter, Harry Potter/Ginny Weasley, Hermione Granger/Ron Weasley
Comments: 25
Kudos: 302





	1. Jilted

**Author's Note:**

> This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

“… terribly sorry. The entire trip is non-refundable due to its highly customized nature, as explained in great length in the contract in clauses A, E and J in sections four-dash-eight, five-dash-eleven and seven-dash-three,” the voice droned on as Harry Potter sat, unresponsive, in an incredibly uncomfortable monstrosity of a chair. A chair that very likely cost more than most wizards make in a month, he told himself glumly, paid for by idiots like him and their complicated contractual fuck-ups.

His gaze wandered around the elegantly appointed office without actually seeing any of the opulent furnishings or tasteful decorations. This couldn’t be happening to him. He was Harry bloody Potter, Savior of the Wizarding World. The Chosen One. The Vanquisher of the Dark Lord. The Boy Who Lived. And now, according to the gleefully malicious headline dancing across the page of  _ The Daily Prophet _ in front of him, The Man Who Was Jilted.

Jilted. Harry closed his eyes. He truly couldn’t believe how far he had fallen in the last 48 hours. Two days ago – had his life really only been ruined for the span of two days, he wondered? It felt like an eternity. He shook himself out of the thought. Two days ago he had been puttering around his and Ginny’s flat, cursing himself roundly because he had left memorizing his vows to the last minute. He and Ron had rowed about a pair of missing cufflinks. Hermione had fiddled with his tie, part of the ridiculous Muggle tuxedo his blushing bride had insisted he wear underneath his dress robes. 

Draco Malfoy’s monotonous explanation of refund policies and contractual agreements trailed off as he realized the man in front of him had not heard a word he had said. He followed Potter’s gaze down to the desk where copies of the _ Daily Prophet _ , the _ Quibbler _ and several other newspapers were scattered. Potter’s bleak visage graced the cover of each with news of his broken engagement and subsequent abandonment at the altar. Draco’s personal favorite was the one that crowned him the Chosen Chump and detailed his erstwhile fiancé’s long history of rather blatant infidelity, culminating with her ditching him at the altar just moments before their wedding in favor of a rich Italian playboy.

Draco sighed and shifted his focus to Potter’s companion.

“Granger, there’s nothing I can do,” he said, infusing his voice with regret. It never paid to anger clients, and wealthy clients like Harry Potter were Draco’s bread and butter, he reasoned. He didn’t actually feel pity for the idiot, he told himself. “As I said, I’m terribly sorry, but the Portkey tickets and accommodations are not refundable or transferrable. It was all spelled out in the contract Potter and his fiancé signed when they arranged the holiday.”

Hermione nodded. She had read the documents herself earlier this morning before dragging Harry to Malfoy’s law firm. Draco’s partner, Susan Bones, had been the one to negotiate and approve the contracts, but she was tied up presenting a case before the Wizengamot and couldn’t see them on such short notice. Harry’s fury at being forced to see Malfoy was the only true emotion Hermione had seen out of him in two days.

“Harry, you need to pay attention,” she said gently, laying a hand on Harry’s arm. He looked up, his green eyes clouded with sorrow and an uncharacteristic anger.

“Non-refundable and non-transferrable. I’m not a bloody idiot, Hermione,” he snapped. “Just a pathetic tosser who believed his fiancé meant it when she said she loved him.”

Hermione’s jaw snapped shut and Draco could tell she was pulling patience from somewhere, using her Gryffindor loyalty and compassion to remind herself that Potter was in pain and lashing out at anyone in reach. Draco held back a snort; he could actually see the emotions and thoughts playing across Granger’s face.

“Unfortunate circumstances, to be sure,” Draco said smoothly, breaking the tension between the two friends. 

“Feel free to owl or Floo if you have any other questions. I’m happy to contact the travel agency once more to try to cancel the contract, but frankly it’s not likely. My secretary can help you with anything else you need. I’ve instructed her to spend today contacting the wedding vendors and taking care of their invoices,” he said in obvious dismissal, shuffling the parchment on his desk and setting the pile with Potter’s holiday bookings off to the side of his gleaming cherry desk.

“Anything I need, eh, Malfoy? How about a wife to take on the bloody trip? See, I thought I’d have one by this time today, but it appears I was mistaken. All I’ve got are hundreds of thousands of Galleons in bills for a wedding I didn’t have. What’s another 15,000 Galleons added to the total?” Harry asked bitterly. “And what the hell kind of holiday did I book that costs 15,000 Galleons? A trip to the bloody Moon?”

Draco sighed and adjusted his robes. Like Hermione he too searched for patience before answering, but his reason was his firm’s reputation, which would plummet if Potter accused it of botching the contract negotiation or failing to represent him well. He was absolutely not being polite because he felt sorry for the man, he told himself. 

“Actually, it is a trip to Central America – a small island off Costa Rica, to be exact. A beautiful place, I’m told, perfect for couples,” he said with a tight smile.

“It had bloody well be a damn sight more than just beautiful for that price, Malfoy,” Harry growled. “Or did I mistakenly buy the blasted island instead of just booking it for a holiday?”

Draco’s smile grew even more strained as he breathed deeply before answering. He reminded himself of all Potter had lost. The man had every right to be angry, just not at Draco.

“I assure you it is a fair price. The holiday your fiancé booked is one of the most exclusive and luxurious packages available in the Wizarding world. Absolute privacy comes at a steep price, as one so intimately acquainted with the media such as yourself should clearly understand,” Draco said pointedly, gesturing toward the stack of newspapers.

Harry looked like he was about to burst, so Hermione spoke up quickly.

“Are you quite sure it can’t be transferred or even simply postponed? I’m sure Harry would benefit from some time away after everything settles down,” she said desperately.

Draco shook his head with a small frown.

“I’m sorry, Granger, but nothing can be done. The privacy wards and other arrangements have already been activated; the holiday can’t be postponed, nor can it be accessed without Potter. All the wards are keyed to him,” he said.

Harry stood abruptly and strode toward the door.

“We’re wasting our time, Hermione. It’s only money. Ginny spent more than that every month on robes and jewelry. Just let it go. This lovely conversation has probably cost me nearly as much as the trip, anyway,” he said with a defeated air.

Hermione shut her eyes. Ginny had done a number on Harry’s self-confidence. It might never recover, coupled with the blows it received during his unhappy childhood with the Dursleys. She ached inside for the poor neglected boy Harry had been and the lonely and bitter man he had become. Ginny leaving him at the altar had been horrible, Hermione admitted, but it had hardly been the first sign of problems in their relationship. 

Ginny had been sleeping her way through the ranks of the wizarding elite for months. She wasn’t completely to blame, either. Her infidelities began long after Harry had grown cold and distant toward her. They shared a flat but it could hardly be said the two shared a life. More often than not the couple had been apart for days or weeks at time between Ginny’s Quidditch schedule and the way Harry had thrown himself into his job as an Auror over the last year. 

Hermione swallowed hard as she considered what she was about to do. She and Ron had argued about it until dawn after the two of them had coaxed a drunk and forlorn Harry to sleep sometime after 2 a.m. They both knew the problems between Harry and Ginny had started just over a year ago when Harry ran into Malfoy at a Ministry gala. They hadn’t had any contact to speak of since, but the fact that Malfoy was the only person other than Hermione or Ron who could get any kind of emotional reaction out of Harry at all these days was proof enough for her.

“Harry, for Merlin’s sake, there’s no reason to storm out in a snit. At least shake the man’s hand. This isn’t his fault, you know,” she said, her voice wavering slightly.

Harry shot her a confused look and then sheepishly looked down. Draco just barely managed to keep the shock off his own face, covering it by standing quickly and stepping around his desk. Harry approached and held out a hand, which Draco grasped firmly.

“Potter, I –“

Whatever Draco had been about to say was cut off when Hermione grabbed the Portkey to Costa Rica off his desk and tossed it to Harry, whose Seeker reflexes caused him to raise a hand and catch the trinket without thinking. Draco’s eyes widened in alarm as Hermione incanted the spell to activate it and he felt the dreaded pull of Portkey travel at his navel.


	2. Aug. 3

**Aug. 3**

The two men landed in an ungainly pile on a soft, sandy beach. Draco looked absolutely furious, but Harry was too shocked to even register what had happened.

“Potter, you idiot!” Draco ground out, nearly tripping himself in his haste to stand.

Harry remained seated in the sand, blinking slowly as he took in his surrounds.

“You absolute moron! This is entirely your fault! You and that damnable Mudblood Granger!” Draco bellowed.

The slur against Hermione caught Harry’s attention. He pulled himself up, moving toward Draco and stopping just a few inches from him, their faces nearly touching. Harry clenched his fists in Draco’s robes, preventing the other man from retreating.

“Do. Not. Call. Her. That,” Harry said in a dangerously low voice, enunciating every word.

“Damn it, Potter, you can’t possibly be defending her! That calculating bitch transported us to Costa Rica against our will!” Draco snarled, meeting Harry’s glare with one of his own. “Our biggest problem right now is hardly my choice of derogatory slur against your supposedly  _ loyal _ school chum.”

“Fuck you, Malfoy. Just take us back,” Harry spat.

Draco let out a slightly unhinged laugh. Harry released his hold on his robes, backing up a step. 

“Did you read  _ any _ of the paperwork you signed about this holiday?” Draco asked, his voice taking on a hysterical tinge. “I  _ can’t _ take us back, Potter. The wards here won’t let us leave until they expire at the end of the scheduled holiday.”

Harry’s anger dissipated and he gave Draco a blank look. 

“Absolute privacy? Iron-clad wards? Guaranteed seclusion? Stop me when this starts to sound familiar, Potter,” Draco hissed.

The gravity of the situation – essentially being marooned alone with Malfoy on a tropical island thousands of miles from home – began to sink in and Harry’s eyes flashed angrily.

“The wards are keyed to me, are they not?” He said tightly, stooping to comb the sand for the small Portkey. “I’ll just take us back.”

He closed his eyes and gripped the Portkey in his fist, reaching out to grab Draco’s arm as he said the spell to activate the device. Harry’s eyes snapped open when the familiar tug of travel failed to materialize. He dropped Draco’s arm and glared at him accusingly.

“It didn’t work,” he said flatly.

Draco rolled his eyes and sighed.

“Of course it didn’t work, you idiot. It  _ won’t work _ until the end of the contracted holiday. The wards were keyed to let you and anyone traveling with you in, but they won’t let anyone out. We’re trapped here until they expire.”

He looked at Harry expectantly, but Harry shook his head and raised his shoulders negligently. Of course, Draco thought bitterly. The idiot has absolutely no idea about what this bloody holiday was supposed to entail.

Draco turned and stalked angrily across the sand toward a large cottage set back from the shore. He drew the door open and walked inside, ripping off his too-warm robes as he went.

“What the hell are you doing, Malfoy?” Harry asked angrily, matching the blond’s strides through the house.

“What does it look like I’m doing, Potter?” He asked acidly, unknotting his tie and unbuttoning his collar. “I’m getting comfortable. I’ll be damned if I’m going to wear these bloody stifling clothes while we’re trapped here.”

Harry followed him into a large bedroom – the only bedroom Harry could recall seeing as he had hurried after him. Draco threw open the closet door and rifled through a selection of clothing inside – clothing that looked extremely familiar.

“Hey! Those are  _ my _ clothes!” Harry yelled.

“And what stunning taste you have, Potter,” Draco said thinly, choosing a pair of lightweight linen slacks and a cotton polo shirt. “Surely you don’t expect me to wear your ex-fiancée’s clothes? No? I thought not. Then these are my only choice.”

Harry’s burning glare turned to the neat row of Ginny’s clothing that hung opposite his own garments. He raised his hand and the offending items burst into flame, flaring up brightly and disappearing, leaving the closet smelling of singed silk.

“Bloody hell, Potter! Warn a bloke before you pull something like that,” Draco said, gasping at the powerful display of wandless magic and the unwelcome tingles of arousal it sent shooting to his groin.

“If you’re finished saving the world from errant clothing, oh Wandless Wonder, we should see about exploring the pantry and setting up sleeping arrangements,” Draco said from behind the bathroom door, which he had closed so he could change his clothes without Potter seeing the evidence of his mortifying reaction to the brush of magic. It was, of course, a perfectly natural reaction to a powerful wizard casting a spell so unexpectedly, Draco reasoned. It didn’t mean he was actually attracted to Potter. 

Harry closed his eyes and took a deep breath, trying to center himself. He turned back to his own clothing and chose an outfit similar to Draco’s, shucking his heavier robes and trousers to slip into the cooler clothes. Malfoy was right. There was no reason to be uncomfortable, and the weather here was definitely hot and humid.

***

The tentative peace lasted just over an hour while the two men ate a hastily rummaged dinner of cold sandwiches and several heartily welcomed beers. They avoided all conversation, since even the old standby of Quidditch was out because Ginny played for the Harpies. 

Draco placed their plates in the sink, which was charmed to not only wash them but return them to the cabinet, and leaned back against the counter casually.

“I’m sure you’ve noticed there is only one bedroom, Potter,” he said with a smirk.

Harry was startled by the sudden conversation. He turned in his chair and faced Draco.

“Which should by rights be mine, since I’m the tosser who’s footing the bill for this lovely holiday,” he said sourly.

“True, but it’s also your very best childhood friend who is at fault for stranding us here in the first place, ergo the bedroom should fall to me, the victim,” Draco said with a slight smile.

Harry stiffened at the mention of Hermione, still stung by both her betrayal and Draco’s attack on her when they arrived. Draco saw his shoulders tighten and sighed.

“Listen, Potter, because I’m only going to say this once. I called Granger a Mudblood because I knew it would get your back up. I haven’t used the word for years, and I certainly don’t think Muggle-born are any less talented than we, as a pure-blood and a half-blood, are,” Draco said quietly.

Harry’s brows drew together as he took in what Draco was saying. 

“Are you familiar with my work regarding blood politics?” Draco inquired, knowing full well everyone in the wizarding world was.

“I am,” Harry admitted. 

Draco’s chosen area of study at university had tackled the genetics of pure-bloods, half-bloods, Muggle-born and even several supposedly dark creatures like Veela and werewolves. Draco’s findings had been conclusive in proving that all witches and wizards shared the same magical blood no matter what their parentage. He spent the next few years as a Ministry lobbyist, using those findings to draft policy papers and call for legislation that granted all witches and wizards equal rights. His parents had been appalled at how he had used his education and had promptly disinherited him after his first dissertation was published. Instead of caving to their demands as they had expected, Draco had gotten a grant from the Ministry to attend law school. He used his experience as a lobbyist to open a law firm with partners Susan Bones and Pansy Parkinson, and the firm had been doing well.

In fact, Draco had been instrumental in getting the Ministry to recognize Remus as a war hero and pay restitution to Teddy and Andromeda for his role in fighting Voldemort and subsequent death. That news had come just days before the Ministry gala where the Harry and Draco had met again for the first time since Hogwarts a little more than a year ago. Harry blushed as he thought back to the gala and his encounter with Draco. 

Harry brought his hand up to absently massage the back of his neck, embarrassed. If he’d been thinking clearly he would have known that Draco had only used the word to make him angry. He had truly moved past his childhood prejudices and had more than made amends for it; he had changed the lives of thousands in the Wizarding world.

“I apologize, Malfoy,” Harry said sincerely. “I’ve no right to be angry with you for any of this – you were right when you said none of it was your fault. If I’d stopped to really think about it I would have known you didn’t actually mean what you said about Hermione.”

Harry stumbled over the next few words.

“I – well, I – that is to say,” Harry’s cheeks took on a pink sheen. He cleared his throat. “I thanked you for the work you did to get Remus the recognition he deserved, but not the rest of it. So thanks for what you’ve done.”

Draco colored slightly and nodded, clearly remembering the only slightly less awkward expression of gratitude Harry had made a year ago. 

“Thank you, Potter. As for the bedroom, it  _ is _ only right that you take it,” he said. He wandered into the cottage’s cozy sitting room and absently gestured at the couch. “I can sleep here. It looks comfortable enough. And it’s only for a month, hey?”

Harry, who had been following close behind Draco, jerked to a stop.

“A month?” he asked, panicked.

Draco rolled his eyes and laughed. 

“Indeed. The contract, remember? I don’t have it in front of me, obviously, but the highlights are thus: Secluded island. Privacy wards preventing entrance or exit, including messages by owl. The wards drop on Sept. 1,” Draco said dryly, enjoying the shocked look on Potter’s face.

Harry didn’t respond, but Draco could see him mouthing the words “a month” to himself in disbelief. Draco could virtually see the wheels turning in Harry’s mind, searching for the current date. 

“We’ve plenty of food to last us, and I think I saw a small library toward the back of the cottage,” Draco continued. “Of course, there is a provision for emergencies; the wards are keyed to our health, and should either of us become ill or wounded the wards will drop so we may leave.”

Harry looked like he might actually be considering doing himself physical harm so they could escape. 

“I think we can manage to be civil to each other for a few weeks, don’t you, Potter?” Draco asked, quirking a brow in Harry’s direction. “The cottage is comfortable enough, and we have the entire island to explore. Let’s just agree to make the best of an admittedly unfortunate situation, shall we?”

Harry was stunned. Draco Malfoy – one of his most hated enemies from school, someone who had tried to kill him on more than one occasion – was suggesting they set aside their differences and spend a carefree month frolicking around a tropical island. He unconsciously ran his hand through the short hairs at the nape of his neck, confused.

Draco sent Harry his most dazzling smile and stepped closer to the clearly flustered dark-haired man. Harry stared dumbfounded as Draco extended a perfectly manicured hand toward him in a gesture of friendship and truce.

Draco maintained his outward confidence even as he was terrified inside. Potter likely didn’t even realize the significance of the handshake, he thought, nor how emotionally wrenching it was for Draco to stand there like an idiot with his hand extended, waiting for a handshake that might never come. Draco kept his shoulders back and his head high, staring into Harry’s clear green eyes just as he had all those years ago in Madam Malkin’s shop when the Gryffindor had first refused his friendship. Would he do it again, Draco wondered?

Excruciating seconds passed before Harry regained control of his faculties. He quickly lifted his arm and grasped Draco’s hand, curling his fingers around the warm palm and giving it a light squeeze.

“I should warn you that I won’t be good company,” Harry said, giving Draco a searching look.

Draco laughed, returning the squeeze before letting go of Harry’s hand.

“I shouldn’t think so. I hardly think you expected to spend your honeymoon stranded in paradise with your lawyer-slash-most-hated-childhood-enemy,” Draco said with a laugh. “Well, other than good old Voldie. At least, I’d like to  _ think _ I ranked second.”

Harry’s full lips twitched with the barest hint of a smile. 

“A very distant second, I’d have to say, but yes.”

Draco nodded, his eyes dancing with humor. He looked away and swallowed, absently rubbing a hand along the back of his neck. He stiffened as he realized what he had done; that was Potter’s move, not his. When had he adopted that particular affectation, he wondered? 

“Potter, in all seriousness, I do realize this is an incredibly tough time for you,” Draco said solemnly. “You have much to digest, a lot of things to work through. I can’t say as though I can be any help, but I can stay out of your way. And I will. You should take this time to sort through things and plan for how you’ll move forward when we get back.”

Harry nodded, swallowing past the knot that had formed in his throat as Draco’s words forced him to think about the mess his life had become lately. A little solitude might do him some good, he silently acknowledged. As would some Firewhisky.

“Thanks, Malfoy. I suppose you’re right.” Harry looked outside, noting the now-dark sky. “I’m exhausted, and I’m sure you are, too. I’ll take the bedroom tonight, but we’ll have to come up with a plan to share it in the morning. You can’t sleep on the couch for four bloody weeks.”

It was Draco’s turn to swallow hard as he contemplated just what sharing a bedroom with Harry Potter might mean. The images that slammed into his brain were most certainly out of line, he thought. He firmly squashed his thoughts, watching as Potter wandlessly Summoned blankets and pillows from somewhere down the hall, depositing them on the couch. Harry turned without another word and disappeared down the hallway to the bedroom. 

Draco’s emotional crisis passed unnoticed by Harry, since the dark-haired man was lost in his own thoughts. He couldn’t believe the Slytherin had changed his tune so abruptly. Hours ago he had been nearly ready to kill Harry for grabbing that Portkey, and now he was calmly volunteering to sleep on the couch for a month – a bloody month! – while stranded on an island with only Harry for company. His cheeks heated as he recalled the last time he and Malfoy had been alone. He had kissed him, and it hadn’t been an accident. Malfoy had just looked so damn sexy in his dress robes, and he had just fervently defended Remus before the Minister like some kind of avenging angel. Harry had been caught up in the moment and, unable to stop himself, had brushed his lips against Malfoy’s to see if they were as soft as they looked. He had expected a hex or a cold rebuke, not the fiery passion he had glimpsed as Malfoy – Draco – had returned his clumsy embrace with a much more skill than Harry possessed.

He’d been so confused by the whole thing. And later that night he’d been thinking about that stolen kiss while making love to Ginny, unable to stop himself as he pictured Draco’s face when he came. There must have been something in his own expression that gave him away, because she hadn’t stopped badgering him until he admitted what he’d been thinking. Ginny had been coldly furious, but she hadn’t left him – he’d realized too late that he should have simply lied, though he wondered if his admission was born of the fact that he was dissatisfied with his relationship with her and subconsciously trying to sabotage it. It had worked, at any rate. Their life together – their engagement – had been his penance for his slip, for what she called his unnatural attraction to another man. She refused to sleep with him after that, and who could blame her, Harry thought. And so began his year of celibacy and her year of openly sleeping around, spending his money and planning a ridiculously expensive wedding that she apparently had never planned to go through with. It had all been to get back at him for his momentary lapse. 

Harry shucked his shirt and trousers, not bothering to rifle through the closet for anything to sleep in. It was warm despite the open windows, and he settled into bed, watching the slow rotation of the overhead fan for hours as he contemplated the mess that had become his life, studiously avoiding any thoughts about Malfoy in the process.


	3. Aug. 4

**Aug. 4**

On the other side of the world, Hermione was having a summit with Pansy and Susan. The three were sitting at Hermione’s kitchen table, drinking tea and going over Draco’s schedule for the next month. Susan fidgeted with a scroll, her fingers worrying the edge and causing it to fray.

“He’ll never forgive us. We shouldn’t have done it,” she said softly.

Pansy snatched the scroll – a bankruptcy filing for a business Draco represented – away from Susan and shot her a sharp look of reprimand.

“He’ll agree it was necessary, so long as Potter holds off on killing him long enough for Draco to think it through,” she said firmly. “It was absolutely the right thing to do. For both of them.”

Hermione nodded, looking up as Ron walked into the room holding their toddler, Hugo.

“It was. They were both miserable. Ginny did Harry a favor, as far as I’m concerned. Who knows how long Malfoy and Harry would have skirted around each other before one of them finally made a move?” she asked, her eyes issuing a direct challenge to Ron. 

Ron deposited the chubby little boy in his high chair and raised both his hands in defense.

“I haven’t said a word, Hermione. Not a bloody word. Not since you three outvoted me after the wedding.”

The unlikely alliance between the three women had formed months ago, after Hermione and Pansy had both grown concerned about their respective friends. It was obvious to everyone close to the two men that something had passed between them at the Ministry gala, but no one knew exactly what. The last straw for Pansy was Draco’s declaration that he was taking a hiatus from dating, right after he dumped the raven-haired keeper from Puddlemere United. It was around the same time she came across a bill from the private investigator Draco had hired to tail Ginny. He had sworn he was simply covering all the bases in regard to their highest profile client, Harry Potter, who surely would want to break his engagement and might be in danger of being sued by Ginny Weasley. When Pansy pointed out that Ginny was also a client Draco had huffed and refused to discuss it further.

“You’ve had two days to think about our offer, Weasley,” Pansy said, shooting him a speculative glance as he sliced a banana for Hugo. “I’m afraid we can’t wait much longer for your answer.”

Ron closed his eyes and sighed. It was a great opportunity. He’d get to work with interesting clients and do work that was levels above what he was currently doing for Andrews, Michelson and Grant. Pansy and Susan both promised there was the potential to be taken on as a full partner after Malfoy returned, as long as everyone was pleased with his work. Merlin knew he and Hermione could use the boost in salary he’d have as well.

“Yes, fine,” he said somewhat shortly, reaching his hand out for the stack of parchment in front of Susan. “Give me the bloody files. I’ll come by the office this evening to get started after I give my notice. Earlier if they toss me out as soon as I hand it in like they do with most of the other underlings.”

Susan smiled for the first time since Ron had walked in. Ron was an immensely talented solicitor. Despite his reputation as a hothead at Hogwarts he was cool as a cucumber when arguing a case, though he hadn’t had the chance to argue many in front of the Wizengamot. That would change if he took over some of Draco’s case load, however. Her smile widened as she imagined Draco’s reaction to the man he still called the Weasel taking over his clients, even temporarily. 

Ron’s eyes narrowed at the grins on both Susan and Pansy’s faces.

“He’s going to kill me,” he warned.

Pansy nodded, eyes serious.

“That’s likely, yes.”

It was Ron’s turn to unleash a feral smile. It was easy to envision him as a cutthroat solicitor with that expression, not that he’d had the opportunity to show that quality much at his current firm. 

“But not before he kills  _ you _ for orchestrating this, Parkinson,” he said, his grin growing. “This will be interesting.”

***

“I assume that by now Granger has told everyone where we are, not that they can reach us even if they know. I only hope Susan and Pansy can cover my clients for the next few weeks.”

Harry paused, spatula in hand, looking stricken at the thought. He had spent most of the night before drinking and getting maudlin about both his jilting and being marooned with Malfoy on this damned island, but none of those thoughts had been about how much the situation was going to affect Malfoy. Harry had been genuinely surprised to find out just how secluded and lengthy the holiday was, but it was his honeymoon; he knew someone had been in contact with his supervisor and Harry’s time off had been approved. Draco had not made such provisions; he had literally left his entire life behind without any notice. His attention snapped back to the now-burning pancakes before him on the range; he waved a hand and Vanished the blackening mess and cast a Scourgify on the pan before starting over.

“Merlin, Malfoy, I’m sorry!” Harry said, his voice heavy with guilt as he ladled batter into the sizzling pan. “I didn’t even consider what this must be like for you. Your job, your home, your –“ he hesitated, swallowing past the unexplainable lump in his throat as he thought of Draco’s personal life. “ –social engagements. What the hell was Hermione thinking?”

Draco snorted. Social engagements? As if he had any of those. He’d found a major fault with every woman – and man – he had dated for the last year. First he developed a preference for dark-haired lovers, then exclusively men. Anyone who was too poncy was dropped, then anyone who didn’t have green eyes. After dating two near-clones of Potter, Draco had stopped dating altogether, unwilling to admit what his changing preferences could mean, even to himself.

He cleared his throat, toying absently with his wand. Thank Merlin he’d had it on him when Granger pulled her little stunt. He had his father’s paranoia to thank for that; most wizards didn’t wear wrist holsters anymore, since their world was so much more stable than it had been during the war. But a healthy fear for his own safety, born of years of practice and lectures, had him sticking to his old ways. He smirked, knowing exactly what his father would think of his gratitude now.

“It is an inconvenience, to be sure, but I have faith that Pansy and Susan will pull through. We’d talked of taking on another partner, and I imagine they will follow through with that once they realize we’ll be gone for an entire month,” he said with a shrug, as though the fate of his firm, the firm he had painstakingly built brick by brick, case by case, didn’t mean anything to him at all.

His careful nonchalance was definitely an act, but Draco was surprised to find that the prospect of losing his hard-earned business didn’t bother him as much as it should. Potter mattered. Potter, who was a broken shell of a man thanks to that Weasley bitch. Potter, who needed to rebuild his self-esteem, and Draco, who genuinely wanted to help. He had spent the night tossing and turning on the Transfigured sofa trying to figure out why, in this unfortunate and quite honestly horrible situation, he felt light at heart.

He was looking forward to spending this time alone with Potter. Draco’s head had buzzed with the realization that all it took was one bumbled kiss in a cloakroom with Potter to completely throw his world off its axis. One encounter, sparked by an accidental brush of lips when Potter leaned in to shake his hand as Draco had been bending forward to grab his cloak. One heated, heart-stoppingly wonderful kiss that had been immediately dismissed as an accident. A year spent studiously avoiding not only Potter but any and all thoughts of Potter in any context other than a professional one. One mortifying kiss that had sent electric shocks down Draco’s spine – and he didn’t even know if Potter had felt it, too. If his engagement to the Weasley bint was any indication, he’d guess the answer was a resounding no.

Draco held a manicured hand up to cut Harry off before he could flagellate himself any further. 

“None of this was your doing, Potter. Nothing can be done, so we may as well try to enjoy ourselves. It’s beautiful here,” Draco said, gesturing expansively and turning his gaze toward the verandah, which overlooked the sea. 

“Enjoy ourselves?” Harry set a plate of pancakes on the table, looking up to meet Draco’s eye. “I suffered a horrible humiliation by being left at the altar by my fiancée and having a very public breakdown about it. You may well lose your firm because of your month-long absence. We were each other’s biggest rivals in school, and we’ve barely spoken since. How, exactly, can we possibly enjoy ourselves?”

Draco reached out to grab Harry’s wrist. He squeezed it gently but did not release it, keeping Harry in front of him since it seemed likely the dark-haired man was about to bolt.

“We’ve both come a long way since Hogwarts. We may not be friends, but we’re not enemies,” he said calmly, careful not to belie the fact that his heart was racing with panic as well. He had no idea how to help Potter, nor did he have any idea why he  _ wanted _ to help Potter. Both were disturbing thoughts to someone who prided himself on his aloofness.

“It’s true that we haven’t spoken for almost a year before now, but I thought our last conversation went well. It hardly ended with wands drawn, did it?” Draco asked, forcing a nonchalance into his voice that he certainly didn’t feel. His chest warmed at the thought of the unexpectedly passionate kiss he and Harry had shared. 

Harry colored slightly, which Draco took to mean he was uncomfortable with the turn of the conversation. He doesn’t want to remember that night, you idiot, he thought angrily. He’d been trying to ease the situation and help Harry relax, and instead he’d done just the opposite. 

Recovering quickly, Draco Conjured a tray and levitated their breakfast onto it, adding two glasses of pumpkin juice and a carafe of strong coffee. He directed the tray outside, rising from his seat at the kitchen table.

“We’ll take our breakfast out on the verandah,” he said, looking over his shoulder at a slightly bewildered Harry. “People who are enjoying themselves in a tropical paradise often take their meals out of doors, I imagine.”

Harry followed without comment. His embarrassed blush dissipated, replaced by a bemused expression. He was pleased that the other man remembered that night, though he wasn’t sure what to make of the easy way he had summarized the encounter. He wasn’t entirely certain what it had meant to him, but he did know he was disappointed it hadn’t made a huge impression on Draco.

They ate their breakfast in companionable silence, and Harry was surprised with the comfort that simply sitting outside in the sunshine with Draco brought him. The blond hadn’t once asked him any questions about Ginny or his life back home. He seemed content to let Harry brood in peace, which Harry appreciated. 

Draco stirred a sweetened cream into his coffee absently, his mind back in London. He wondered if news of Harry’s unconventional honeymoon had made the papers yet, for surely it was only a matter of time. That shrew Ginny would probably leak the news herself. Draco wondered if she had ever intended to marry Harry or if the whole thing had been an elaborate and expensive way to publicly humiliate him. 

Harry felt a pang of unease when he saw the stormy look on Draco’s face as he stirred his coffee. The foreboding feeling grew when the blond stood abruptly, excusing himself from the table to head out for a walk on the beach. Harry didn’t think offering to accompany him would be a good idea, so he merely nodded, gathering up the breakfast things and heading back into the house. 

Draco didn’t make it very far down the shore. He had no interest in exploring the island or enjoying the salty breeze that was coming in off the water. He just wanted – no, needed – to be alone. He was drained by the force of his realization that he had feelings for the other man, and he needed time to think about what it meant. He had to admit he’d done a fairly good job of shielding the fact that he’d been interested in Potter from even himself, though it seemed blindingly obvious when he reviewed his actions for the past year. Besides, Potter was definitely straight, if his reaction to remembering their accidental kiss was anything to go by. Draco sighed, kicking at a mound of sand. He should have taken his shoes off, he noted with a frown as he felt the rough grains slip inside.


	4. Aug. 7

**Aug. 7**

Harry sat on the sandy shore, absently flicking his wand at the water and watching his bright Patronus burst to life and bolt toward the horizon, only to fizzle a few hundred meters out. He’d tried everything he could think of over the last few days to get a message to someone – anyone – who might be able to contact the agency Ginny had booked their honeymoon through. Surely someone there could bring the wards down.

He’d even tried an idea he’d gotten from one of the Muggle books in the cottage’s library, stuffing a note into an empty bottle of Butterbeer and floating it off with the tide. That hadn’t worked, either.

Harry jumped when an unfamiliar Patronus joined his, nudging the stag playfully as they darted above the waves. 

“A raccoon, Malfoy?” Harry asked, not bothering to turn around to see who had joined him. After all, there were only two of them on the godforsaken island. Who else could it be?

Not that they’d spent much time together. Harry spent almost every waking moment outside, his skin turning a burnished brown from long hours in the sun. The boathouse was stocked with just about everything they could possibly want – jet skis, surf boards, kayaks, snorkeling gear, even a pontoon boat designed to propel itself around the reef while its occupants basked in the sun on its generous deck. A large shed behind the cottage was similarly outfitted with things to entertain them on land. He’d spent most of their second day in captivity exploring the small island on an ATV, though he much preferred the broomsticks that had also been provided.

Draco, on the other hand, had sequestered himself inside, rarely venturing out past the screened-in verandah. He’d never particularly enjoyed hot weather, and the island climate was definitely steamy. Cooling Charms and fans kept the cottage bearable, but he had no inclination to throw himself into physical pursuits like Harry. He preferred to do his exploring in the small library, which had a surprisingly eclectic mix of books, both Muggle and magical. 

Harry turned to look for Draco when the other man didn’t answer, shielding his eyes from the sun so he could see him better. The blond fairly glowed in the afternoon sunlight; the bright glare wreathed his fair hair and pale skin in a halo of shimmery color. The effect was rather angelic, which made Harry snort with laughter. Draco Malfoy was many things, but angelic definitely wasn’t among them.

“It’s a perfectly respectable Patronus,” Draco sniffed with mock offense, collapsing onto the sand with an elegant grace that Harry envied.

Harry quirked an eyebrow at him, almost letting the comment pass. Besides, he was right. It was a respectable enough Patronus; he’d just been surprised that Malfoy  _ had _ a Patronus. It wasn’t a spell that most witches or wizards ever mastered, and since the Dementors had all been eradicated after the war there was little reason to try. 

“Of course,” Harry said, bowing in Draco’s direction. “The noble and esteemed raccoon, king of scavengers.”

Draco grinned, and Harry’s chest tightened at the carefree expression. He’d been studiously avoiding thoughts about Malfoy for the past few days, but every once in awhile – more often than that if Harry was honest with himself – he slipped and found himself daydreaming about how Malfoy’s lips had felt pressed against his or how fit his arse looked. 

“Raccoons are very intelligent animals, I’ll have you know,” Draco said.

Harry swallowed thickly when he realized the blond was rolling his shirtsleeves up, exposing his muscular forearms as a concession to the heat. Something about the act was almost unbearably intimate, though Harry knew it was ridiculous to think so. His own arms were bare, and he’d seen Malfoy in short-sleeved shirts over the last few days. The slow reveal of the pale flesh was almost teasing, though, and Harry’s pulse jumped at the thought of watching Malfoy peel his entire shirt off in a similar manner instead of just rolling up the sleeves. Shaking himself out of his wholly inappropriate reverie, Harry pointedly looked away, scooting a bit further from the blond.

Draco noticed Harry’s sudden discomfort, assuming Potter had looked away lest he see something he didn’t want to. He held his arms out, turning them so the insides of his wrists were visible.

“Look, Potter,” he said, the easy playfulness from moments ago gone from his voice. “No Dark Mark. That’s what you were afraid of, right? Proof that I really supported that fanatical arsehole?”

Harry’s head whipped back around, a look of shock on his face. He’d known the other man didn’t have the mark – it was one of the reasons the younger Malfoy’s punishment after the war had been so much more lenient than his parents’. The elder Malfoys had been sentenced to 20 years in Azkaban, but their terms had been commuted into house-arrest because of over-crowding and a lack of guards at the wizard prison. In contrast, Draco had been given just one year of house-arrest and another two years of parole.

“Malfoy, I didn’t –”

Draco shook his head angrily, shoving his arms in Harry’s line of sight. The dark-haired man had no choice but to examine the perfect, unblemished flesh.

“No Dark Mark,” he said again, his grey eyes hard. “Don’t you want to cast revealing spells? Make sure I didn’t manage to hide it all this time?”

Harry looked appalled. He swallowed hard, backing up as much as he could in the sand, but Draco followed him, jabbing his wrists at him.

“Feel it,” Draco said, clamping a hand over Harry’s and pulling him forward, forcing him to run his callused palm over the creamy flesh.

Harry clamped his jaws together as a jolt of desire shot through him at the contact. The blond’s skin was velvety soft, but the muscles and sinews underneath were delightfully hard. He met the other man’s gaze, his heart pounding from a combination of Malfoy’s nearness and the way the air around him seemed to crackle with magic when he was angry. Harry could almost see it on Malfoy’s skin, making him wonder if he were to lick the wrist he held if it would taste like magic.

Harry dropped Draco’s hand like a hot coal before he could do something stupid, like act on his ridiculous notion to  _ lick _ it. The dark-haired man felt his face heat with embarrassment; he didn’t know what was wrong with him. Ever since the Ministry gala last year he’d been having inappropriate thoughts about the other man, and now he was stuck in close quarters with him for the foreseeable future. It was a disaster in the making.

“I know,” he said quietly, forcing himself to continue to meet the blond’s steady gaze. He needed to master this attraction he felt for Malfoy – the man doing something as innocuous as rolling up his sleeves shouldn’t have caused him to seize up with discomfort. “My mind was elsewhere, I’m sorry.”

Draco didn’t look convinced, but he let his arms rest loosely at his sides, his posture no longer combative. 

“Seriously, Malfoy,” Harry said, desperate to put them on even footing again. True, they didn’t spend much time together, but he had no wish to make the time they  _ did _ spend in each other’s company miserable. 

Draco studied him for a moment, apparently judging him to be sincere. He nodded woodenly, letting his gaze wander out across the waves. He  _ had _ overreacted, and badly, at that. Of course Potter would be distant and uncomfortable at times – he’d obviously jumped to conclusions. The poor man’s entire life was falling apart, and all he could think about was proving he wasn’t still the evil git he’d been years ago. Though practically assaulting Potter to prove he didn’t have the Dark Mark was hardly the right way to go about it.

“I apologize,” he said stiffly, avoiding eye contact. “It’s a bit of a sore subject for me.”

Harry blew out a breath, watching a gull dive toward the water in search of its dinner. It looked majestic, gliding just above the surf with its wings extended, dipping its head into the waves only to emerge seconds later with a small fish gripped triumphantly in its beak. He imagined the fish felt just like he had a moment ago – confused and ambushed.

“No need to apologize,” Harry said, wanting nothing more than to drop the entire subject.

They were silent for long minutes, each lost in his own thoughts. Harry startled both Draco and himself when he finally did speak, his voice infused with a cheerfulness he definitely didn’t feel.

“Fancy a ride on a jet ski? I’d never been on one before yesterday, but it’s brilliant. Rather like a broom that skims the water.”

Harry regretted the words as soon as they’d left his mouth. Malfoy had made a point of avoiding all outdoor activities since their arrival; his presence down on the beach itself was an anomaly. He usually spent the hottest part of the day holed up inside with a book, venturing out only after the sun had begun to set and the temperature dropped a bit.

Draco had been about to politely decline, but one look at Potter’s face had him changing his mind. The other man was clearly expecting him to say no, which was a fabulous reason to say yes. 

“Why not?” he said, smirking when the other man’s eyes widened in surprise. “Do we go like this?”

He motioned toward his clothes, which had been appropriated from Harry’s closet. They’d divided them up the second day, and Draco had applied the necessary charms to tailor them to fit himself, since he was a bit taller and less broad than Harry. 

Harry bit his lip, barely holding back a resigned sigh. They’d gotten into this mess because he’d gotten a jolt out of watching Malfoy roll up his sleeves, and now he’d suggested an activity that would have him shedding considerably more clothing. Perfect.

“Can you Transfigure your boxers into swim trunks?” Harry asked, pulling his shirt up over his head and dropping it on the sand. He shucked his trousers as well, leaving him standing on the shore in nothing more than a pair of boxer-briefs that left little to the imagination. 

Draco stood dumbly, watching Harry undress. He nearly missed the spell the other man used to Transfigure his pants into swim trunks, since he’d been so fixated on Harry’s smooth expanse of tanned chest and beautifully sculpted abs. The Auror business was definitely a good one for keeping fit, he decided, willing the beginnings of an erection away as he focused on undressing himself and Transfiguring his own pair of boxer-briefs into suitable swimwear. 

“Race you down to the boathouse!” Potter called out from several meters down the sand, already running toward the whitewashed structure.

“Cheater!” Draco yelled, making sure the tie on his swim trunks was secure before tearing off after him, laughing despite himself.

***

The house was quiet except for the whir of the ceiling fan above him. Draco crossed his hands behind his head, watching the blades rotate as he tried to will himself to sleep. He was exhausted from spending the afternoon swimming and running about with Potter, but it had been a surprising amount of fun. It had only taken him a few tries to get the hang of the jet ski, and as soon as he had the two of them had raced around the island, trying to knock each other off the machines and into the surf.

He sighed, stretching restlessly. He’d been so caught up in playing around with Potter that he’d forgotten to renew his Sunblock Charm, and his back and shoulders had gotten a bit burnt as a result. He’d been too uncomfortable to bother with pajamas, so he’d settled for sliding into bed in just his boxers. 

Christ, his boxers. Draco tried to steer his thoughts away from the soft boxer-briefs he was wearing, but his mind was uncooperative. Seeing Potter similarly attired on the beach that afternoon had tested his willpower, though he was grateful he hadn’t embarrassed himself by getting an unwanted erection at the sight. But merciful Merlin, Potter had looked good nearly naked. The boxer-briefs had clung to every bit of him, and Draco felt his own cock stir at the memory of seeing the outline of Potter’s.

His hand trembled slightly as his fingers swept over the form-fitting material of his own pants, the unfamiliar feel of them a reminder that nothing he had here on the island was truly his. He’d never worn boxer-briefs before, and they were certainly different than the loose silk boxers he preferred. He was suddenly hyper-aware of the hug of the snug cotton against his balls, the knowledge that these were  _ Potter’s _ pants sending a rush of blood to his cock. It was utterly ridiculous, of course, but once the thought had taken root he couldn’t banish it from his mind.

Draco cast a wary glance down the corridor. He’d won the battle to sleep on the sofa, though that wasn’t something he ever thought he’d be proud of saying. Still, this  _ was _ Potter’s holiday – he deserved to have a place to relax and be by himself in, and the only logical place was the cottage’s only bedroom. Draco was kicking himself for his insistence now, though, as his throbbing cock demanded attention. Bloody Potter had his own room and could wank whenever he wanted –

Draco hissed out a breath, his eyes closing at the thought of Potter behind the door at the end of the corridor, heavy cock in hand as he stroked himself. He’d glimpsed Potter in the Quidditch showers when they were teenagers, of course. He knew he man had nothing to be ashamed of, at least not from the quick glances he’d gotten of him. It had been just one more thing to be jealous of when they’d been in school – though Draco’s own cock was more than respectable. Still, he’d seen Potter’s endowment as another illustration of how Perfect Potter had everything handed to him.

He bit his lip, giving in to temptation and letting his fingers ghost over his cotton-clad erection. Perfect Potter. He laughed softly, wondering how he’d ever been so stupid. He’d idolized his father and swallowed everything the man told him without question. Draco clenched his teeth, driving thoughts of his adolescent mistakes out of his mind. He’d likely spend the rest of his life atoning for what he’d done, but he was determined to do it.

His maudlin thoughts hadn’t affected his erection, which was still begging for attention. Draco sighed, easing up onto his elbows to get a proper look down the corridor. The sofa he’d Transfigured into a bed was smack in the middle of the sitting room, which opened onto the kitchen and the corridor to Potter’s room. The door was firmly closed, though, and he couldn’t see so much as a sliver of light underneath it. He considered casting a Silencing Charm around the bed, but then he wouldn’t be able to hear if Potter got up and wandered down the corridor – he’d just have to be quiet.

He clenched his jaw, rolling his eyes at his own idiocy. He hadn’t had to worry about anyone overhearing him wank in years, not since his days in the Slytherin dorms. He started to peel the boxer-briefs down, hesitating before they slipped past the head of his cock. There was no point in pretending he wasn’t going to think about Potter as he wanked, so why not go all out? In for a Knut, in for a Galleon, he figured. Instead of taking them off, he ran his hands over the fabric, rubbing himself through the soft cotton. Wearing a pair of Potter’s pants as he wanked was as close to getting off with Potter as he was likely to get, so he might as well take advantage of it.

Draco bit back a moan, wrapping his fingers around his boxer-clad cock as he stroked. The material slid up and down his shaft, pulling tight against his balls as it moved. He could hear his harsh breathing, noticeable even over the whir of the fan. His eyes blinked open, staring into the darkness as though he expected Potter to burst into the room at any time. The added thrill of the very real possibility of getting caught by the man he was fantasizing about was enough to send him over the edge, and Draco bit his lip hard, holding back his groans as he came for what felt like an eternity. 

He fell back onto the pillows, trying hard to regulate his panting breaths into something quieter. The boxer-briefs were sticky with cooling come, and Draco grimaced as he rolled over to reach for his wand. He spelled them clean, wondering if it had been a bad idea to indulge himself. After all, he had more than three more weeks here on the island with Potter. He fervently hoped he’d be able to put what he’d just done out of his mind, lest he spend those three weeks walking around with a perpetual hard-on because he the pants he was wearing. Perhaps he’d just have to start going without.


	5. Aug. 9

**Aug. 9**

Harry leaned against the pantry door, taking stock of their supplies for what felt like the hundredth time. Draco – the other man had asked him to call him that yesterday, and Harry had agreed it was ridiculous to keep calling each other by their surnames – had offered to do his share of the cooking, but since the extent of the blond’s repertoire was making toast and calling for take-away, Harry had appointed himself the official cook.

He reached out for a tin of tuna in oil, wrinkling his nose as he read the label. Apparently Ginny had given the agency a list of foods to stock for the honeymoon, and not surprisingly most of them were things Harry hated. They had a freezer full of chicken and a store of fresh produce that seemed to replenish itself, but he was already running out of ideas just a week into their captivity.

Draco watched the dark-haired man glare at the tin as if it had insulted him, raising an eyebrow when Harry chucked it into the bin instead of replacing it in the cupboard. It had no effect, of course, because the replenishing spells on the pantry simply replaced the tin with a new one, but the action seemed to have satisfied Harry at least somewhat. He closed the door with a sigh and headed toward the cold box, intent on pulling out yet another bit of chicken to defrost.

“Why don’t we go fishing?” Draco asked, strangely affected by Harry’s melancholy. He’d found himself more in-tune with the other man’s moods lately, which was disturbing, since Harry understandably spent most of his time moping around the cottage or pursuing outdoor activity fueled by angry energy. It left Draco feeling edgy and uneasy most of the time.

“Hmm?” Harry asked, poking his head back out of the cold box to stare at the blond. Had he just heard him right?

“We’re on a bloody island, Harry! You’re obviously tired of chicken, and it doesn’t look like there’s much in the pantry. Let’s go catch something for dinner.”

***

“‘Let’s go catch something for dinner,’” Harry groused, poking the feeble fire in front of them with a long stick. “I think that was the same thing the people on Gilligan’s Island said before  _ they _ set out, too.”

Draco stopped gathering dry pine needles, cocking his head at Harry. 

“Where is Gilligan’s Island? Is it in Costa Rica? Did they survive?”

Harry laughed, thankful for the unintended bit of lightheartedness. He tossed his stick into the flames, stepping back when a bit of sap on the branch exploded and sent hot embers into the air.

“It was a American television show. An old one. I wasn’t allowed to watch the telly unless no one else wanted to – which was only when nothing good was on. I don’t know how it ended, actually. I suppose they got rescued or something. I only saw a few episodes.”

Draco bit back a comment, sure that this wasn’t the time or place to discuss Harry’s family. He’d heard rumors over the years that the Boy Who Lived’s home life had been less than stellar, but he’d dismissed it all as propaganda. Perhaps he shouldn’t have, he mused.

“They only had one telly?” he asked, unable to help himself. Harry hadn’t opened up about anything of consequence over the last week, and Draco found himself desperate for more insight into the man.

“No,” Harry said with a bitter laugh, sprinkling some of the pine needles Draco had gathered over the fire. They seemed to make good kindling. “They had one in every room. I was only allowed to watch the small black and white set Aunt Petunia kept in the kitchen, though.”

Draco let Harry lapse into silence. The dark-haired man was watching the fire with such intensity that Draco felt an insane urge to tell him everything was going to be alright. He scoffed at the thought, heaving himself up off the fallen log he’d been sitting on to go forage for some food. This was nominally his fault, after all, since he’d suggested the fishing expedition. 

“Check the boat,” Harry said, his attention still on the fire. “I think I remember seeing some duffle bags of supplies under one of the seats. Probably for situations just like this one.”

Draco snorted, kicking off his shoes as he made his way across the sand. If the manufacturer had foreseen the navigation spells failing, then why the hell hadn’t there been a safeguard? He and Harry had set out to go fishing more than six hours ago, taking the pontoon boat because it was supposed to be charmed to be able to find its way back to the cottage. Somewhere around hour three – after they’d failed to snag any fish whatsoever – they’d decided to head back, only to find that the boat had been drifting without the spell for who knew how long. They were in no danger of actually drifting out to sea, of course, because of the wards, but by the time they’d finally managed to bring the stupid thing to the shore they’d had no clue where they were.

He waded toward the boat, which they’d anchored to an outcropping of rocks with a shoe lace Harry had Transfigured into a rope. It had been on the shoreline when they’d landed, but the tide had apparently come in, and the tethered boat was now several meters out from land. His trousers were wet to his thighs by the time he was able to climb aboard it, making him doubly grateful he’d shed his shoes. 

Draco rummaged around in the darkened boat, not thinking to use his wand to provide some light until he stubbed his toe on the tackle box they’d been using earlier. He glared at the metal box, faulting it for their predicament. If the charmed worms they’d been using to fish had worked they’d be at the cottage right now, full of fresh fish and relaxing. Instead they were camping on a desolate stretch of beach, with Merlin only knew what around them.

He found the bag Harry had mentioned under the captain’s chair. He unzipped it, dismantling the preservation and waterproofing spells that had been layered on it with a flick of his wand. Sure enough, there were tins of food, candles, blankets and what looked like some sort of tent inside. He replaced the waterproofing spell and hefted the bag onto his shoulder, grabbing a few of the seat cushions for good measure before stepping back into the waves. The water had risen yet again, and he now found himself soaked nearly to the chest.  _ Perfect _ , he thought sourly, careful to keep the cushions above the water line since he hadn’t thought to spell them as well.

Harry nearly laughed when he saw Draco trudging back to their campsite. The blond was soaking wet and obviously out of sorts, but it looked like his mission had been successful. He brightened when he realized Draco had thought to bring the seat cushions, since it meant they wouldn’t have to sleep on the sand. Their evening was looking up.

“Here,” Draco said, tossing the duffel bag at Harry’s feet and unloading the cushions next to him in the sand. “There’s a tent in there, too.”

Harry watched Draco disappear back into the trees with a bemused expression, wondering where the blond was going. He’d already made it clear that he disliked camping – Harry suspected it reminded him of unhappy days spent on the run after sixth year, just as it conjured images of the Horcrux hunt for Harry – and had expressed concern about animals they might encounter in the wilderness. Harry had dismissed his fears, especially since camping a few hundred meters from the ocean among a sparse line of trees could hardly be called the wilderness, in his opinion. He’d yet to find any evidence of dangerous wildlife on his explorations of the island, but Draco had merely shrugged when he’d told him so.

“Where are you going?” Harry called out, anxious when the blond failed to reappear.

“Drying my clothes,” Draco answered, his voice slightly muffled as he pulled his shirt up over his head. He’d tried Drying Charms before while wearing the clothes, only to find it was exceptionally uncomfortable. He needed to completely strip down so he could cast the charms.

“Just dry them by the fire,” Harry yelled, standing to peer over the copse of trees Draco’s voice had come from.

“There are charms for that, Potter,” Draco retorted, slipping back into his former mode of address for the Gryffindor in his irritation.

“But they don’t work as well on salt water. You know that.”

There was a considerable pause as Draco considered Harry’s words. It was true that they’d found clothes dried to an uncomfortable stiffness if you used the charm on salt water, but the only alternative was sitting around the camp fire with Harry in only his pants. He felt his cheeks flush at the thought, growling to himself when he felt his cock stir with interest. Right, then. The charm it was.

“Don’t be an idiot,” Harry said, startling Draco with his unexpected nearness. He whirled around, grateful he hadn’t yet stripped off his boxers. Harry stood behind him, already grabbing the sopping wet clothes to carry them back toward the fire.

“Here,” he said, tossing a blanket he’d taken from the bag toward Draco. “Bring your boxers out, too. I would think they’d be tight and uncomfortable if you used the charm to dry them, and tonight’s going to be hard enough without that added discomfort.”

Draco shivered at Harry’s unintentionally provocative words. His boxers  _ were _ tight and uncomfortable at the moment, thanks to Harry’s unexpected presence. Draco wrapped the soft blanket around his waist, sighing as the fire-warmed fabric chased away the lingering chill from his late-night swim. He eased the boxers off, knotting the blanket around his naked waist before making his way back toward the clearing. Harry had already rigged up some branches to act as a drying rack for his clothes, so Draco draped the boxers on one of the sticks and joined Harry at the fire. He felt exposed sitting there naked but for a blanket, but it didn’t seem to bother Harry, so he shrugged the feeling off.

The other man was studiously examining the tinned food from the bag, his distaste clear in his expression. Harry was too caught up in what he was doing to take much notice of the scantily clad man perched on the log at first, but his mouth went curiously dry when he finally looked up and saw Draco there. The firelight was throwing dark patterns against his pale skin, and Harry watched, fascinated. He hadn’t gotten close enough to Draco when they’d been on the jet skis to ascertain that the blond’s chest was hairless, but he could plainly see that it was as the shadows moved across smooth muscles and brown nipples.

“Anything look good?” Draco asked, wondering why Harry suddenly looked so stricken.

Harry choked slightly, panicking as he realized he’d been staring at the blond. 

“What? “ he managed to squeak, horrified that he’d been caught studying the other man so closely. A feeling he could only describe as lust was creeping through him, and he shut it down brutally, refusing to believe seeing another man nearly naked could evoke feelings in him that had been dormant since Ginny started sleeping around.

“The food? Anything good?”

Harry shook himself out of his daze, relieved that Draco hadn’t noticed him staring. He turned his attention back to the bag at his feet, rifling through it without enthusiasm.

“Our choices are beans or beans,” he said, wrinkling his nose as he fished two cans out. 

“Well, I suppose caviar would have been too much to hope for,” Draco said flippantly, raising his hand to catch the tin Harry chucked at him.

“You’d think they could have done better than this, though,” Harry grumbled, his scowl punctuated by his stomach growling. It was nearly midnight, and they hadn’t eaten since lunch. “Tinned beans it is, then.”

Draco shrugged. He’d eaten worse things in his life, that was for sure. Harry watched him curiously as the blond tapped the tin with his wand, using a spell that took the top off and then another that heated the contents. He looked around with a frown, grabbing a stick from the ground and wiping it against his towel before Transfiguring it into a spoon.

“Mmm?” he asked, tilting his head quizzically at Harry as he chewed. The beans were hot enough to burn his tongue, but they tasted alright. 

“Nothing,” Harry said, shaking his head. He used the same spells Draco had, burning his thumb on the bottom of the tin when he over-did the heating spell a bit.

He would have just gone to bed hungry, but he had no idea how long it would take them to find their way back to the cottage in the morning and he really was starving. They’d opted to stay here for the night since they didn’t want to navigate in the dark, and neither of them knew any navigational spells that would help them. They could have just Apparated, but Draco was worried about what effect the wards would have on Apparition – what if the ward thought they were trying to Apparate away from the island instead of just back to the cottage? They’d deemed it unwise to try, but Harry was suddenly tempted to throw caution to the wind and give it a shot. Anything would be better than eating beans out of a tin with a make-shift fork – it brought back too many bad memories from his childhood.

His stomach growled again, and Harry glared at the tin in his hand before giving in and scooping out a bite. They tasted much better than he’d anticipated, and he relaxed against the log, leaning back and settling into the sand as he ate.

“I never figured you for a snobbish gourmand,” Draco teased, still watching Harry’s bizarre reaction to the beans. 

Harry flushed, chewing the bite he’d just taken. Something about being stuck with Draco in the middle of nowhere, camped out in the open air with nothing but a fire and a tent, was making him mental. Why else would he suddenly feel compelled to share things with the blond that he’d never told anyone else? 

“My family –” he paused, rearranging words in his head. “No, my family was my parents. My guardians, my aunt and uncle, didn’t exactly raise me as part of their family. Often they’d lock me outside for the day when it was warm, and sometimes they’d forget to let me back in at night.”

Draco schooled his features into polite interest, sure that if Harry caught a glimpse of pity or anger he’d stop talking. And Draco  _ definitely _ wanted to hear the rest of this story.

“Mrs. Figg, our neighbor down the street, knew a bit about how they treated me. She used to leave food out for me, and I would sneak over on those nights to get something to eat. But she wasn’t very well off, and all she could afford to spare were tins of food like beans and tuna. She’d leave them out there with an opener, but she always seemed to forget I’d need a fork, too.”

Harry was lost in his remembrances, a wistful smile on his face as he spoke about the Squib. She’d died not too many years ago, and when Harry had found out she had no family he’d arranged for her funeral. He and a few members of the defunct Order were the only ones who’d come, but he felt better knowing she’d had a proper burial.

“So the beans reminded you of that,” Draco said flatly, his mouth a grim line. How could those Muggles have treated anyone, let alone the Savior of the Wizarding World, like an unwanted pet? His fingers clenched around his Transfigured spoon, which trembled under the pressure, its finish looking more like bark than metal from the stress his grip put on the spell.

“Yeah,” Harry said, shaking off his memories. It hadn’t been all bad, of course. He’d enjoyed the Dudley-free hours, and he’d always been able to find a place to curl up for the night when he got tired. The Dursleys had a garden shed that had fit the bill nicely. “But this isn’t half-bad,” he said, gesturing with his still-warm tin of beans. “I think being able to heat them makes the difference.”

Draco would have pursued the topic of Harry’s childhood further, but the other man turned the conversation to lighter things, somehow buoyed by his confession and completely oblivious to the fact that the blond was seething with anger. He finished his beans – and Draco’s, too, when the other man claimed he was no longer hungry – with a smile, and then set about erecting their tent while humming a song he’d heard on the wireless a few weeks earlier. He felt loads better, even though he couldn’t believe he’d told Draco any of it.

They arranged their cushions as best they could inside the small tent, which regrettably was not a wizarding space, so it truly was as cramped as it looked. Harry had dragged it what he called a safe distance from the fire, which they intended to leave burning on the off chance there  _ were _ any wild animals out there, and Draco was gathering more kindling to keep it going throughout the night. 

“Draco?”

He turned when he heard Harry call his name, once again startled at how close the other man was. They were almost nose to nose, and Draco lost his footing in the loose sand, stumbling forward and nearly toppling Harry as well. He was close enough to smell the faint scent of Harry’s skin, his heart hammering at the way the undertones of sweat and sunshine made his insides clench.

Harry made a startled sound, backing up a step but still keeping his steadying hands on Draco’s shoulders, lest the other man fall.

“Harry?” 

Draco held his body stock-still, not trusting himself not to lean in and taste Harry’s lips. 

“I was going to ask you if you could point out the constellations,” Harry said, his voice a bit breathless. He wasn’t unaffected by Draco’s closeness, but he was desperately trying to be.

That slammed the door on Draco’s libido, and his cheeks flooded with color as the blood started to return to his head. Of course. He was an idiot to think Harry might have been angling for a kiss.

“Of course,” he said with feigned casualness. He motioned toward the darker part of the beach, and Harry followed him, laying a respectable distance away from where Draco settled in the sand.

It took Draco a minute to get his bearings, since this wasn’t the summer sky he was used to, but soon he was pointing out stars and constellations to Harry, making the dark-haired wizard laugh with anecdotes about them. Harry was particularly interested in the trivia he could offer about Canis Major and the brightest star in the constellation, Sirius.

“I’ve never actually seen it,” Harry said, following Draco’s finger as he pointed to the constellation, which was easily visible against the inky black sky.

“Not surprising,” Draco said, shivering slightly when Harry shifted a bit closer. The amount of heat his body gave off was amazing, and it was definitely wreaking havoc on Draco’s. “It’s visible in the Northern Hemisphere in the winter, but you’ve no hope of seeing it in London. Too much light pollution.”

Harry sighed, happy to learn that Sirius was the brightest star in Canis Major. It was fitting, he thought, since the real Sirius had been such a bright star in his own life.

“So all the Blacks are named for constellations?” he asked. He didn’t want their stargazing session to be over. He was enjoying himself immensely, just being in Draco’s easy company.

“My mother wasn’t. She’s never quite forgiven her parents for that, I think,” Draco laughed, his voice rich with amusement. 

“But you are?” Harry asked, rolling to his side so he could look at Draco. The blond had gotten a bit of color over the last few days, but he was still pale enough to reflect the moonlight.

“I am. Draco is one of the oldest recorded constellations. The Greeks said it was a dragon Hera put in the sky to guard over them,” he said with a slightly bitter laugh. “It’s a circumpolar star. That means it never sets, in the Northern Hemisphere at least. Good old dependable Draco. Not sure I live up to that.”

Harry studied the man splayed out in the sand next to him, unsure of how to respond. He’d laid some of his own insecurities out for Draco earlier, and the other man had let them pass without making any sort of comment. It had been exactly the right reaction for Harry, since he neither wanted nor needed pity from anyone. He figured Draco was probably the same way, so he let the conversation lapse into comfortable silence, watching the stars twinkle above them.

“We should turn in,” Draco said after awhile, comfortable where he was but unwilling to fall asleep in the sand. He wanted whatever minimal protection from the elements – and animals – that their sorry excuse for a tent could provide.

“Alright,” Harry said, stretching the kinks out of his muscles as he stood. He took the hand Draco held out to help him up, offering him a small but genuine smile. “Thanks.”


	6. Aug. 13

**Aug. 13**

“Is there really no way to get a message to him?” 

Susan shook her head, frowning at the copy of the  _ Daily Prophet _ on the conference room table. They’d hurried through their afternoon status meeting so there would be time to talk about recent developments in what the  _ Prophet _ had dubbed its “Trouble in Paradise” series, but she didn’t see what good talking about the libelous drivel would do.

“The contract she had me negotiate with the travel agency was very specific. At the time I thought she was just trying to protect them from any outside interference during their honeymoon, but now I’m not so sure she hadn’t planned this whole thing,” Susan said, feeling disgusted with herself. 

“You weren’t the one who tricked him into going,” Ron said, taking a sip of his cooling coffee. He and Hermione had been fighting often lately, and though Harry’s name and the way he was getting blasted in the press was never mentioned, he was definitely the underlying cause. “Not that Hermione doesn’t feel awful. She does.”

“It wasn’t just her,” Pansy said, looking up from a stack of files in front of her. She’d asked her assistant compile everything that was being written about Harry, knowing that Draco would want to see it all when he returned. “Thank Merlin we’ve been able to keep Draco out of it so far.”

And they had. Miraculously, the thin excuses they were using for Draco’s disappearance from the public eye – and his clients – were holding, even as the  _ Prophet _ intensified its search for whomever Harry had taken to the island.

“I’m going to make sure Harry sues that bastard at the travel agency. I have the papers ready, he just has to sign them when he gets back and I’ll file it immediately,” Ron snapped, coffee slopping over the side of his cup as he brought it down hard on the table. 

The only reason the  _ Prophet _ and the rest of the wizarding world knew where Harry was at the moment was because of a leak at the travel agency. The day after Harry and Draco left someone anonymously tipped the paper off that the protective wards around the island had been tripped by two people. Since only Harry and Ginny could have traveled there, it was obvious where the missing Man Who Lived was, and it was also obvious that his former fiancée wasn’t with him, since she was playing the martyred ex-lover on the front page of the paper every day.

“At least he wasn’t able to tell them where the island was,” Susan said, her fingers moving restlessly against the glossy finish of the table. This was her fault too, in a way. She’d had the private investigators vet the agency, and everything had looked aboveboard. 

“Hermione’s fairly certain Ginny paid him to give the tip,” Ron said, his jaw tightening as his sister’s name passed his lips. They hadn’t spoken since she left Harry at the altar.

“She probably did,” Pansy said, grimacing at one of the clippings in front of her. “This one’s rich: “A source close to Potter says he never intended to take Ginevra Weasley to the secluded island hideaway he’s holed up in now. ‘She’s known that he’s been having an affair with Celestina Warbeck for longer than they’ve been together,’ the tearful friend of the family says. ‘It was enough for her at first, being part of his life even if she couldn’t be the only woman in it, but Ginny just couldn’t take the deception anymore. That’s why she stood him up – she couldn’t bear to go through with a marriage that was just for show.’”

Susan snorted. Apparently the famous singer was missing as well, but Pansy had been able to find out that the middle-aged witch was recuperating from a rejuvenation potion gone wrong in some fancy private Swiss hospital. Of course, her publicity people weren’t eager to admit that the famously beautiful witch used potions and spells to maintain her youthful appearance, so they’d been completely mum on the topic, allowing the ridiculous rumors to take root.

“Mum threw away all of her records the other day,” Ron said, rolling his eyes. His mother believed his sister’s story about standing Harry up before he could stand her up, although no one else in the family did. It had made for some very uncomfortable Sunday dinners. “Can she really believe a singer who’s older than  _ her _ has been shacking up with Harry since he was a sixth-year at Hogwarts?”

Susan leaned over and patted his knee. This had been hard on all of Harry and Draco’s friends, but probably hardest of all on him and his brothers. They were stuck in the middle between their sister and the man they’d treated as a brother for years. 

The intercom on the table buzzed, and Pansy gave both Susan and Ron a hard look before answering it. They needed no reminder not to talk about Harry and Draco’s situation in front of others, but she wasn’t taking any chances.

“Yes, Abigail?”

“Mrs. Henkenforth wants to know when Mr. Malfoy will return,” her assistant’s tinny voice said. “She’s on the Floo right now.”

The office had adopted several Muggle-style devices, like intercoms, telephones and, Pansy’s favorites, paper clips and legal pads. She was grateful for the intercom now, since without it she knew Mrs. Henkenforth would have had reason to barge into their meeting in person.

“Tell Mrs. Henkenforth that the Healers are confident Mr. Malfoy will be back in the office by early September,” Pansy said in a clipped tone. “Dragon pox is a complicated illness to treat in someone his age, and they’re taking no chances at setting his recovery back.”

The official line for Draco’s absence was that he was holed up in a private clinic in France being treated for Dragon pox. It was true that it was a dangerous disease to have out of childhood – Draco’s grandfather Abraxas had died from it in his late forties – and the fact that it was highly contagious and rendered the patient delirious helped their cause as well.

“Mrs. Henkenforth would like to speak to him by Floo,” Abigail responded, the annoyance clear in her voice. Pansy made a mental note to talk to her about that – while she certainly had no love for the obnoxious client, she  _ was _ one of their biggest sources of income. 

“That is not possible,” Pansy said, giving Ron an exaggerated eye roll. “The Healers are adamant that he not be disturbed. Mr. Weasley would be more than happy to address any questions she may have. He is handling Mr. Malfoy’s cases in his absence.”

Ron grimaced. He hadn’t had a problem with any of Draco’s other clients, but this particular one refused to have anything to do with him. She could blow everything for them if she raised much more of a fuss. So far the  _ Prophet _ hadn’t caught wind of Draco’s disappearance, but if it did, how long would it be before Rita Skeeter put two and two together?

***

Harry woke up to the scent of bacon cooking. He stretched languidly, kicking at the sheet that had tangled around his feet some time during the night. He ran a hand over his naked chest, enjoying his lazy moment in bed. The warmth of his palm against his skin felt curiously familiar. He bolted upright when he realized why.

He rubbed his face, trying to determine if last night had been a dream or not. He was often plagued by horrible nightmares, and they only gotten worse after he’d arrived on the island. There were just too many memories swirling around, from his childhood with the Dursleys to everything he had lost during the war, not to mention the strange impulses Draco awoke in his blood. Ginny had been perfectly clear on how the wizarding world viewed same-sex relationships when he’d admitted his momentary attraction to Draco – apparently it was considered even more of an abomination than in the Muggle world, since it meant the wizarding lines would die out. Not that Uncle Vernon was any more tolerant; it was just that Harry had hoped that perhaps the wizarding world might be more open to the relationships his uncle had often ranted about as unnatural freakishness. Dudley had often accused him of being a poofter, something that had never failed to make Uncle Vernon go purple and grab his belt to attempt to beat the freakishness out of Harry.

Harry closed his eyes and took a deep breath, willing the memories away. They did no good. He  _ knew _ it was wrong to be attracted to Draco, but he was anyway. His uncle had been right – he  _ was _ a good-for-nothing freak. His life was in shambles, and he had no one but himself to blame. He’d driven Ginny away, and once she told everyone why she’d left him everyone else would hate him, too.

He blew out the breath he’d taken, letting himself fall back against the pillows. Last night. He’d had nightmares, that much was a given. Had Draco heard him? He’d been good about putting Silencing Charms up, but maybe he’d forgotten last night. Harry tried to remember what he’d done the night before, narrowing his eyes when he distinctly recalled erecting the ward after he’d brushed his teeth. So  _ had _ Draco come in and woken him during a nightmare, or had that just been a dream?

They’d been spending a lot more time together since they’re unplanned camping trip. Harry found it easy to open up to Draco, and the blond had proven himself to be a good listener. He never offered advice or asked probing questions, which was exactly what Harry needed. He didn’t want sympathy or outrage or even curiosity – those were the reasons he’d never told anyone, even Ron or Hermione, some of the things he found himself confessing to the other man. 

He’d learned some things about Draco, too. Apparently he hadn’t been betrothed to Pansy Parkinson, as everyone at Hogwarts had assumed, but to a girl from a French family that had alliances with the Malfoys going back hundreds of years. They’d practically been raised together, since their betrothal contract had been forged when they were only days old. When Draco told him stories about summers on her family’s estate in France and holidays with both their families at the Malfoy villa in Italy, the blond’s features came alive. He obviously cared for the girl a great deal, though he said he regarded her more as a sister than as a potential spouse. Still, it had been a huge blow for both Draco and the Malfoy family when her father broke their betrothal contract immediately after the war. Apparently the disgrace their affiliation with Voldemort had brought the Malfoy name was too much for even an old family friend to excuse, and Draco’s fiancée, the girl he’d loved since he was a child, was forbidden to have any contact with him. 

It wasn’t a jilting on the scale of Harry’s experience, of course, but learning that Draco had at least an inkling of what he might be going through made Harry feel better. He supposed he should feel bad that someone else’s pain made relieved his own a bit, but he couldn’t bring himself to be sorry. 

Harry stretched again, throwing the knotted covers back and standing. He bent to retrieve a pair of discarded trousers, his heart skipping a beat when he saw the blanket Draco slept with puddled on the floor. Harry felt his face flush with embarrassment. So last night  _ hadn’t _ been a dream after all. He sat heavily on the side of the mattress, bending to grab the soft blanket from the floor. He’d been dreaming about the Dursleys when Draco had awakened him. Harry closed his eyes, picturing the disheveled blond leaning over him, the blanket he was now holding wrapped around his bare shoulders.  _ Shit _ , Harry thought, dropping the blanket and falling back onto the bed with a sigh.

***

Draco glanced at the clock, frowning when he saw the time. Harry was never this late getting up. He hoped the other man wasn’t angry that he’d come in last night. True, he shouldn’t have entered Harry’s room without permission, but he hadn’t been able to ignore the shouts and sobbing he’d heard. 

When he hadn’t been able to wake Harry by calling his name, Draco had reached over and grabbed him by both shoulders, shaking him slightly until his eyes opened. Even then he’d still seemed to be in the grip of the nightmare, whimpering softly as he curled into Draco’s touch. He hadn’t been able to resist sitting on the bed and gathering Harry in his arms. When his touch seemed to calm the dark-haired man, Draco had hesitantly let his hands glide over warm, tanned skin, keeping the contact light but skimming over his back and chest with soothing strokes. Neither of them had said anything, but he’d stayed until Harry had fallen back to sleep. 

Draco had abandoned all thoughts of sleep himself, letting himself out of the house silently to sit on the beach until the sun rose. Everything Harry had told him over the last two weeks about his childhood had appalled him, but he’d kept a tight rein on his emotions, knowing showing what he was feeling would make Harry close up. How ironic that the only reason the man was opening up to him was because he thought he didn’t care, Draco thought, jabbing at the bacon in the pan angrily. He could just imagine what Harry would say if he knew Draco listened quietly because he cared far more than he should.

He looked up as Harry shuffled into the kitchen, looking a bit haggard and definitely embarrassed. He ignored his expression, plating up some breakfast and sliding it onto the table, his face carefully blank.

“Thanks,” Harry said, nodding toward the over-crisp bacon and runny eggs. Meager as it was, the fact that Draco had cooked breakfast at all was significant; the blond had gained some cooking know-how from watching Harry, but he was still far from comfortable in the kitchen.

“About last night,” Harry began, his eyes on his plate. Draco sighed, leaning against the counter. 

“I’m sorry –” Harry said at the same moment Draco said “It was nothing.”

Harry looked up, his blush standing out against his sun-browned cheeks. He looked adorable, a thought that Draco squashed as soon as it registered.

“No, it was kind of you. I’m sorry my Silencing Charm failed. It never has before,” he said, cocking his head at Draco as though questioning that statement.

Draco shook his head. He’d never heard Harry cry out before last night, and his blood boiled that the man had been setting Silencing Charms so he wouldn’t bother Draco’s sleep. It was so  _ like _ him to do something like that. So Gryffindor.

“So you have these nightmares often?” he asked, keeping his tone light, as though they were talking about a favorite drink instead of nightmares so bad Harry woke screaming and soaked in sweat.

“Er,” Harry looked back down, wondering if he should lie or not. Draco had helped him, though, and he deserved the truth. “Yeah. Every night, just about.”

“Just since we’ve been here, or is this something that occurs at home, too?”

Harry looked up, somewhat surprised by Draco’s interest. 

“Not this often at home, but I have them frequently there, too. I have since school. Ginny’d finally had enough of my screaming and flailing about two years ago – she insisted on separate bedrooms for us.”

He trailed off, wondering if the switch to separate bedrooms really had been because of his nightmares or because it made it easier for her to sneak lovers in. He knew she often shared her bed with someone while he was in his own room, since he’d felt the wards shift whenever anyone entered their home.

“But my charm has never failed before. I must have been preoccupied last night,” Harry said, gesturing with his toast. “I’m sorry.”

Draco forced a smile, though he wanted nothing more than to throw something. The Weasley bint was lucky there were wards keeping them here, because at the moment he’d love to get his hands around her worthless neck.

“It was no problem,” he said, putting his coffee cup in the sink. “Truly.”

***

Draco cursed when the quiet house was disturbed by Harry’s screams for the second night in a row. He’d been awake, sitting up and having a brandy because he’d been unable to quiet his mind enough to get to sleep. Maybe part of him had just been waiting for this to happen, he admitted to himself.

Draco stood, padding down the corridor to Harry’s room. He pushed gently on the door, letting it swing open so he could see the man thrashing on the bed. Harry’s dark hair was plastered to his forehead, his torso gleaming with sweat as well. His blankets had already been tossed to the side, and it looked like he was grappling with some sort of invisible enemy. He’d obviously been locked in the nightmare for some time, but Draco hadn’t heard him until just a few moments ago. The Silencing Charm had apparently held for awhile before breaking.

Draco knelt on the bed, dodging Harry’s flailing arms until he could get a grip on him that prevented the other man from hitting out. Nothing he did woke Harry, though, and Draco had to duck when his legs kicked out as well, trying to dislodge whatever was holding him.

He climbed on top of Harry, straddling his thighs and keeping his grip on Harry’s upper arms. He called the man’s name again loudly, but Harry still failed to wake up, his body bucking underneath him as he struggled to be free.

“Harry, wake up!” Draco yelled, tightening his fingers hard enough to dig into Harry’s sweat-slicked skin. “You’re dreaming! Wake up!”

Green eyes flew open with a gasp, and the body underneath him went still. Draco stayed in place, unsure if Harry was really awake or was still dreaming. 

“Draco,” Harry rasped, his breathing heavy from the exertions of his nightmare.

Draco released his arms, sitting back so Harry could move. He wasn’t prepared when Harry suddenly sat up, his hands cupping Draco’s chin. He gasped when Harry dragged him down until they were face-to-face, too shocked by what was happening to resist.

“Draco,” Harry murmured just before he brought their lips together, nearly devouring Draco with the intense kiss.

Draco’s heart was racing. He knew what they were doing was wrong, but he couldn’t stop himself. He scooted up until he was straddling Harry’s waist instead of his thighs, his breath catching when he realized Harry was as hard as he was. He ground their cloth-covered erections together, his tongue moving insistently into Harry’s mouth. The dark-haired man slid his hands from Draco’s jaw to his arse, his fingers molding around the tight muscle there and holding him in place as he thrust up underneath him.

Both of them were panting by now, their hips moving frantically as they neared release, their mouths crushed together in a fierce kiss. Harry came first, nipping at Draco’s lower lip hard enough to draw blood as his climax ripped from him. Draco wasn’t far behind, rutting against the spasming cock underneath his as he felt the wetness of Harry’s release spread through his own boxers, quickly joined by spurts of his own hot come.

Draco awoke with a gasp, his heart hammering just as it had been in his dream. He could feel the cooling come in his boxers, evidence that he’d just had his first wet dream in over a decade. He grimaced in disgust, both disappointed it had only been a dream and angry with his traitorous body. He licked his lips, surprised to taste the same tang of blood he’d noticed in the dream. Apparently he’d bitten his lip at some point.

He looked down the hall, ridiculously grateful for the Silencing Charm he knew Harry would have erected in his room. He hated that the man preferred to suffer through his nightmares in alone, but tonight it had worked in his favor. He couldn’t even imagine how mortified he would have been if Harry had overheard him.


	7. Aug. 20

**Aug. 20**

“… that’s it, really. We were way too young to get serious when we started dating, but it’s what everyone expected us to do. Look where it’s gotten us,” Harry said with a snort, shaking his head. 

Draco drew random patterns on the tabletop with the condensation from his glass. He’d been waiting nearly three weeks for Harry to tell him about Ginny, and now that he was, he couldn’t help but think there was more to the story than Harry was telling him.

“Shouldn’t you be – I don’t know –  _ angrier _ ?” Draco asked, looking up at Harry. 

Harry shrugged, uncomfortable with where the conversation was headed. He’d agreed when Draco had said he needed to talk about Ginny and how their engagement ended, but he didn’t want to tell him everything. There were some things that were too personal.

“The number of Galleons you dropped on the ceremony would have most men –”

“I don’t care about the money,” Harry snapped, running his hand through his hair. “Sorry. It’s just – it’s not about the money.”

Harry smiled sadly, rubbing his face absently as he regained his composure.

“How she must hate me, to do something like that,” Harry said ruefully, removing his hand and looking at Draco. He didn’t notice how tightly the blond was gripping his glass. 

“Harry, from what you’ve told me, she’s been cheating on you for years. She obviously never intended to marry you, just to publicly embarrass you by setting it all up and leaving you at the altar. How can you not hate her?”

Harry bit his lip, wondering if he should come completely clean with Draco. He’d told him they had a falling out last year that pretty much ended any intimacy between them, and that that was when Ginny had started flaunting her lovers. He’d been vague about their argument, though. How would Draco react to knowing it had been about  _ him _ ? 

Harry took a deep breath, debating what to do. On one hand it would be such a relief to tell someone else about his unnaturalness, but Draco probably wasn’t his best choice, seeing as how his said unnaturalness manifested itself as attraction to him. Still, wouldn’t Draco find out as soon as they were back in London, anyway? Surely Ginny had told her story to the newspapers. He couldn’t imagine she’d have kept quiet, with as harsh as the rest of her revenge had been. He knew he deserved it, but it didn’t make it any easier to digest.

“It’s not that simple,” he said, his tone making it clear that part of the conversation was over.

Draco sat back, taking Harry’s not-so-subtle hint to drop the subject. They sat in silence, each berating himself – Harry for sharing more than he’d meant to with an overly perceptive Draco, and Draco for losing control and pressing Harry for more information than the man wanted give. 

“Do you want to go for a fly?” Harry asked out of the blue, surprising Draco. He’d figured Harry would bolt to privacy as soon as he could.

Draco nodded, eager to spend time with Harry doing something fun. The athletic former Gryffindor usually favored the Muggle sports on the island like surfing and hiking, and Draco didn’t often accompany him. Harry was used to exercise, since his job as an Auror demanded he stay physically fit. He spent most mornings out running on the beach before it got too hot, while Draco spent it enjoying his coffee and watching from the verandah. 

They hadn’t taken the brooms out in the weeks they’d been on the island, and both men were pleased to find they were late-model Nimbuses with a host of features. It shouldn’t have been a surprise, since everything on the island was top-quality.

“How about a Seeker’s game?” Draco asked, spotting a shiny gold Snitch in a case in the corner of the shed. He grabbed it, snapping open the fasteners and catching the Snitch in his hand before it could dart away. 

Draco hadn’t been in the air in years, and Harry had only flown during the impromptu games of Quidditch that always seemed to spark up at the Burrow during the holidays. Harry figured that would mean they were likely fairly evenly matched – Draco had been a magnificent flyer in school, as he recalled.

“Loser makes dinner,” Harry shouted, kicking off the sandy beach and soaring above the island, eager to explore how high the wards that kept them there went up. 

Draco grinned, shielding his eyes against the sun as he watched Harry’s graceful ascent. The wizard dove and looped through the air, his laughter audible even to Draco, who was still on the ground. He’d loved watching Harry fly when they were in school, though he’d never admitted it to anyone. The man was simply magic in the air. He was the most intuitive flyer Draco had ever seen, and watching him execute death-defying tricks with ease was a joy.

“Get your arse up here, Malfoy!” Harry called out, bringing his broom low so he was hovering a few meters over the blond. “Let’s see what you can do without your goons clearing the way for you.”

Draco’s lips curved into a feral smile, needing no further encouragement to take to the air. He looped around for a few minutes, getting used to the controls on the unfamiliar broom, before zooming up and hovering beside Harry. Both men were smiling and tousled, their cheeks already pink from the whipping wind. Draco raised his arm, opening his hand and letting the Snitch zoom toward freedom. The two men locked eyes, studying each other while the Snitch put some distance between them and itself. Suddenly, Harry shot Draco a Slytherin-worthy smirk, winking at him before taking off at top speed in the direction the tiny golden ball had gone.

Draco shook his head, adjusting his grip on the broom and streaking after him. Why did it always seem like he ended up chasing after Potter?

***

Harry scowled as he sat his shoes on the verandah to dry. They’d gotten soaked when the Snitch had skimmed the surface of the water and he’d followed, very nearly falling from his broom when a large wave took him off guard. He’d caught the Snitch in the end, but Draco had laughed all the way back, claiming that seeing Harry bested by nature and looking like an angry drowned rat was enough of a victory for him.

“Just because you were too chicken to try,” he muttered, peeling his sodden clothes off as he made his way toward his room. 

He wasn’t prepared to smack into something solid midway down the corridor, and he found himself flailing out, grabbing at anything he could to keep his footing. His wet shirt was stuck around his head, covering his eyes and severely compromising his range of motion. He would have gone down hard if a strong pair of hands hadn’t grabbed him around his torso. As it was, even Draco’s intervention wasn’t enough to stop him from falling; it just meant the blond went down as well, acting as a cushion between Harry and the floor.

Harry started laughing as soon as he got his breath back, fumbling with his shirt until he could yank the clingy wet fabric over his head and free himself. He rolled to his side so he wasn’t crushing the blond, who was trying to look stern but failing.

“How is it that you have so much coordination in the sky but none on the ground?” Draco asked, shaking his head in a mock disappointed manner. 

Harry rolled his eyes, tossing his shirt toward the bathroom. It landed with a splat on the tiled floor, prompting a disgusted noise from Draco. The hamper in the bathroom was charmed to clean their laundry and return it to the closet, but as Draco had pointed out to the dark-haired man several times already, it only worked if the clothing actually made it  _ in _ the basket.

“Merlin, you’re a pig,” Draco said, giving Harry an exasperated look that was made much less biting by the fact that he was still lying flat on the floor.

Harry laughed, wincing as his Quidditch-abused muscles protested when he got to his feet. He held his hand out for Draco, helping the blond off the floor. He’d taken the worst of the fall, and Harry watched him critically as he rose, trying to determine if he’d been injured.

As Draco straightened, he slipped in a puddle of water from Harry’s dripping clothes. Still holding Harry’s hand, he crashed forward, pinning the dark-haired man to the wall. His lips brushed Harry’s neck as he struggled to right himself, and the unexpected contact sent a rush of arousal through him. Draco pulled away quickly before Harry could feel the effect it had on him, but he managed to catch the wide-eyed look of panic on the other man’s face, making him wonder if Harry had managed to feel his erection after all.

“I’ll just go get dinner started,” he said, turning quickly so Harry couldn’t see his flushed cheeks.

“I should change,” Harry said just as quickly, turning on his heel and bolting for the safety of his room.

Draco shook his head, cursing his body for its reaction to Harry’s nearness. He couldn’t be completely upset at the unintentional contact, though. Now he knew what Harry’s skin tasted like after a day out in the sunshine. His flagging erection throbbed at the thought, and Draco scolded himself, heading toward the kitchen to throw something together for Harry’s victory meal.

Harry could hear Draco banging around in the kitchen, and he figured he had at least half an hour before the blond was ready to eat. He sank down on the wicker chair in the corner of the room, oblivious to the wet tracks he’d made across the carpet. Draco probably hadn’t even noticed the light touch, but the feeling of his soft lips against Harry’s skin had coursed through him like wildfire, setting his blood singing and definitely getting a reaction from his cock. 

He groaned, letting his head fall back against the wall with a thunk. He was a grown man, for Merlin’s sake! He should be able to master his body’s reactions to things, yet here he was, hiding in his room with a hard-on after a few accidental touches from Draco. He squeezed his eyes shut, guilt washing over him. Draco was a  _ man _ . It wasn’t right to be attracted to him. 

Harry shivered, suddenly acutely aware of his wet trousers. He slid out of them, Summoning a towel from the bathroom to wrap around his waist. Cursing the fact that there was only one bathroom in the small cottage, Harry poked his head through the door that adjoined his bedroom. His shirt was still in the middle of the floor, and the door to the corridor was open, just like they’d left it. He eased through the door, closing and locking the one to the corridor. The last thing he needed was Draco walking in on him in the shower, he thought with disgust, catching sight in the mirror of his still-present erection tenting the towel.

He turned the water on as hot as he could stand it, stepping under the spray and letting his chilled skin warm back up. A cold shower probably would have been more logical, but he was already freezing. He sagged against the tiled wall, letting the stream of steamy water hit his back. His cock was still begging for attention, but he could hardly wank while his thoughts were still so tangled up with Draco. That would be crossing the final line, in his mind, at least. He knew he was attracted to men, but he’d never actually wanked to thoughts of one. If he did that – well, Harry didn’t think there would be any redemption for him.

He pictured Ginny’s porcelain skin and long red hair instead, relieved when his mind cooperated and supplied images of the two of them making love. It had been years since he’d really enjoyed being with her in that way, but he could remember the thrill of sinking into her willing body when things were still fresh and new between them, when they’d actually been in love and couldn’t get enough of each other. 

Harry fisted his cock with one hand, bracing himself against the wall with his forearm. His breathing came in rough pants as remembered what it had been like to run his hands all over her pale skin, tracing soft curves and toned muscles.

He groaned when an image of different pale skin flooded his mind – skin that covered firm, defined muscles. Draco was pale like Ginny, but that was where the similarities ended. Harry remembered what it felt like to be cradled against his warm, solid chest. It had been wonderful, just being held by someone who cared, not to mention the fact that the comforting arms that had wrapped around him to soothe him after his nightmare had belonged to  _ Draco _ . Harry gave in, gasping as his strokes became rougher. He pictured Draco on his knees in front of him, his white blond hair plastered to his forehead, water beading on his skin and rolling down his perfect chest as he looked up. Harry bit down on his tongue, reining in the urge to scream as he imagined those full lips opening, curving over sharp teeth to protect Harry’s sensitive skin as he leaned forward, his tongue darting out to lick at the tip of Harry’s cock before swallowing his length down.

Harry cried out, letting his head fall against his forearm as he came harder than he had in years. His legs trembled with the force of his orgasm, and he let himself slide down to the floor, the shower spray still hitting his back as he curled away from the cooling water. He balled up his fists, smacking them against the wall as he felt hot tears prick behind his closed eyelids. He’d never lost control like that before – he’d always been able to stop himself from indulging in such sick and twisted thoughts. 

Harry rested his head against the warmed tile, letting the silent tears spill over and slide down his cheeks. He was well and truly fucked. He’d just wanked to thoughts of Draco Malfoy.


	8. Aug. 24

**Aug. 24**

“Nothing’s going to be different when you get back, you know.”

Harry jumped at the sound of Draco’s voice, pulled from his introspection by the blond’s words. They’d barely spoken at all since their impromptu Seeker’s game a few days ago. Draco didn’t know what had caused the dark-haired man’s sudden withdrawal, but he had a feeling it had to do with Ginny Weasley. He’d let him sulk in silence for days, but he couldn’t stand it anymore. He wanted Harry to talk to him, even if it was just to yell. The vibrant man that had come out of his shell in the last few weeks was gone, leaving the depressed, quiet husk of a wizard Harry had been when they’d gotten to the island.

“She’ll still be there. I wouldn’t be surprised if she’s still in your flat, expecting you to do the honorable thing and move yourself. You need to come to terms with this before we get back or she’ll walk all over you again.”

Harry turned, his face flushed with what Draco assumed was anger. It was a welcome change from the blank expression he’d worn lately, though, so Draco threw caution to the wind and kept prodding at him, hoping for an explosion. There were obviously things on Harry’s mind that needed to come out into the open, and if he ended up hating Draco for making him say them, then so be it.

“She’s going to take you for everything she can, and you’re going to let her. Noble, perfect Harry Potter. She had you pegged from the beginning, didn’t she?”

Harry snarled, upsetting his chair as he stood, his wand in his hand before he could even think. Draco stood his ground, looking the enraged man in the eye even as he held a wand on him with a trembling hand.

“Shut up, Malfoy. You don’t know anything about it.”

“Of course I do,” Draco said, sneering at him to hide his fear. He didn’t think Harry would actually hurt him, but his behavior had been so erratic over the last few days that anything was possible. “You told me all about it, remember? Two young Gryffindors hopelessly in love, unable to hold it together when things got tough. Tell me, Harry, were  _ you _ sleeping around, too, or was it just her?”

Harry’s wand hand shook harder, but he kept it trained on Draco. Part of him registered that the blond hadn’t drawn his own wand, but he was too angry to lower his own.

“Things were bad between us long before she started having affairs. My Auror training and her Quidditch schedule it made it hard early on, and then by the time she retired from the Harpies we’d already started to grow apart,” Harry said, his voice hoarse with emotion. 

“I’ve never slept with anyone else, but I’ve been unfaithful where it matters. I deserve everything she dishes out. I’ll give her the flat if she wants it, and anything else, too. And  _ you’ll _ stay out of it, Malfoy,” he said, infusing the name with as much hatred and scorn as he did when they used to fight in school. Everything was Draco’s fault. 

He’d been happy with his life before he ran into Draco at the Ministry ball, happily planning to marry Ginny and have a family and never indulging in his sick desires. But that had changed, hadn’t it? He’d given in, and now nothing was going to ever be the same again.

“Get over yourself, Potter,” Draco snapped, taking a step forward. 

Harry’s hand shook violently, his eyes filled with tears as he watched the other man approach. He wanted to hex him so badly; every cell in his body was crying out to make Draco feel the kind of pain he was feeling. It was  _ all his fault _ . Harry felt strangely detached from the situation, as though he was watching through someone else’s eyes. He saw Draco wrap his hand around his own, forcing him to lower the wand. He kept a tight grip on it but allowed Draco to maneuver it so it pointed at the floor instead. His tears were falling freely now, and if he’d been able to see through the haze of them he’d know that Draco was pale and shaken, near tears himself.

“Harry,” Draco said quietly, and something inside Harry broke, shattering into a thousand tiny pieces that could never be put back together again. He sagged against Draco, his wand clattering against the floor and rolling away, unnoticed by either of them. Draco wrapped his arms around Harry’s shaking body, tucking him as close to his body as he could and holding tightly, unsure of what he should do but knowing he had to do  _ something _ .

Harry didn’t know how long he stood there in Draco’s arms, but eventually he realized what he’d been on the verge of doing. He pushed Draco away, his face a mask of horror as he remembered how close he’d come to hexing the other man.

“Fuck, Draco! I could have killed you! What the hell were you doing, walking up to someone who had his wand drawn?”

Draco grinned, the crushing feeling of worry and sadness in his chest easing a bit. He knew how to deal with  _ this _ Harry.

“You wouldn’t have hexed me,” he said dismissively, making no move to wrap his arms around Harry again, though he wanted to. “You’re too Gryffindor.”

Harry snorted, Summoning his wand from the floor and tucking it back into his holster. 

“Shows how much you know,” he said, collapsing into a chair. Draco stooped to right the one Harry had knocked over earlier, easing himself into it.

“There’s a world of things I don’t know,” Draco said with a self-deprecating grin. “So enlighten me.”

Harry couldn’t help himself; he smiled despite the maelstrom of emotions that were threatening to send him back into a tailspin. Being with Draco was just so  _ easy _ , even when he didn’t want it to be. He was tempted to distract the blond with the story of Harry Potter, the almost-Slytherin, but he doubted even that would make Draco forget what they’d been talking about. 

Harry fiddled with a loose string on his trousers, studiously avoiding eye contact with Draco. He’d avoided him for days for just exactly this reason, but Draco was right – there was no point in hiding from the truth anymore, especially since the truth was likely waiting for him back at home, laid out in a special  _ Daily Prophet _ exclusive all about the Boy Who Lived to Be Gay.

“Everything changed between me and Ginny when I admitted something to her about myself that I’d known for a very long time but ignored,” he said, fighting the urge to stand and pace. Draco wanted the truth, and he was going to get it. Most of it, at any rate. 

He drew a breath, forcing the words past his lips. They were so quiet that Draco had to strain to hear.

“I’m attracted to men.”

Harry pushed his tongue against his teeth, forcing himself to stop talking. He needed to know if Draco wanted him to continue. Surely this revelation was far worse than anything the blond could have dreamed up, Harry figured, and he wasn’t about to unload it on him if he didn’t want him to. He’d had to live with his unnaturalness for years, so he knew what a burden the knowledge was. Hell, it had been the death knell with Ginny – she hadn’t been able to touch him since she forced him to confess.

Draco, for his part, was desperately trying to keep his face neutral. Harry had just dropped a very unexpected bit of news, and it took all of his self-control not to visibly react. After the lengthy pause he could tell that Harry was waiting for a response, so he chose the most innocuous one he could think of.

“And?”

Harry nearly choked. 

“And?” It wasn’t enough that he was admitting something so shameful that not one but  _ two _ worlds thought it was an abomination? The Muggle and magical worlds agreed on precious few things, but he knew both condemned men like him who found other men attractive. “It’s shameful. It’s wrong. It’s –”

Draco watched horror and embarrassment flit across Harry’s face, but he was also sure he could see a hint of relief at finally getting this huge secret off his chest. He could only imagine how Ginny had reacted to Harry’s confession, and the thought made his insides clench. He had a feeling who convinced Harry his attraction to men was unnatural, and it wasn’t just the sad sack of shite who had raised him.

“Oh, Harry,” he said, the emotions swirling inside him nearly making him lose his head. He ached to cover Harry’s hand with his own on the table, but he knew the contact would definitely not be welcome. “Harry, there’s nothing wrong with being attracted to men. I don’t know what it’s like in the Muggle world, of course, but in our world no one cares.”

Harry gaped at Draco, wondering if it was possible he could be hearing the other man correctly.

“Plenty of people, men and women, in our world are gay. It’s not shameful, and it’s not wrong. It’s perfectly acceptable.”

“It’s not,” Harry said, the shock of Draco’s easy acceptance of his words wearing off.

Draco studied him for a moment, wondering if it was time for a confession of his own. He’d thought Harry knew, but he it didn’t seem like he did. 

“Harry,” Draco said, making sure his attention was focused on him. “Harry, I’m bisexual. Trust me when I say being attracted to the same sex is accepted at all levels of wizarding society.”

***

Harry lay in bed, yet again watching the fan move in lieu of sleeping. He and Draco had talked about homosexuality in the wizarding world for hours, and though he wasn’t positive Draco’s view was more common than Ginny’s, it had given him a lot to think about. He knew his Uncle Vernon’s belief that queers were all headed straight to hell was a controversial one, but he’d never had any reason to doubt Ginny’s words before. 

He shifted slightly, stretching to remove a crick in his neck. He’d carefully avoided all thoughts of Draco’s casual allusion to the fact that he was also attracted to men. They hadn’t broached it after the blond’s initial admission, since he’d seemed more interested in making sure Harry understood the laws that gave witches and wizards of all sexual orientations the same rights – including the right to marry, which had absolutely floored Harry. He’d figured Ginny was his only chance to marry and have a family, but from what Draco told him that wasn’t the case. While no potion or spell could impregnate a man (or help a woman impregnate another woman), it was a common-enough occurrence for same-sex couples to use a surrogate or adopt. 

Harry moved restlessly, wondering if he should just abandon all pretense of sleep and go for a walk. He was still reeling from the fact that Draco hadn’t been the slightest bit shocked or disgusted by his revelation. The fact that Draco could be so casual about his own attraction to men had done more for Harry than any of the other things he’d told him. Even if Draco was lying about it being accepted in their world, at least Harry knew he wasn’t alone anymore. 

Bisexual. Harry turned the word over and over in his head, relieved at the implication that a person could be attracted to both sexes. It meant what he’d had with Ginny – at least in the beginning, when he’d truly loved her – hadn’t all been fake. On his part, at least. Harry rolled to his side and punched at the pillow, fluffing the feathers where they’d become matted. He didn’t want to believe that he was capable of cruelty, and wouldn’t it have been cruel to lead Ginny on if he’d never been interested in her at all? 

He sighed, his gaze drifting back to the fan. He was going to have to go back to the real world soon, and that meant confronting Ginny about a whole host of things. He still felt like he was the guilty party in their split; after all, he’d kissed another man. He could hardly have expected her to marry him after he’d confessed to that, he realized in hindsight. He’d just been so desperate to put that behind him, to pretend it hadn’t happened, that he’d been willing to do whatever it took to make things right with her.

They hadn’t had sex in more than a year, but he still remembered how well their bodies fit together, and how she seemed to know every inch of his body. Still, he’d never felt anything close to the electric thrill he’d gotten from the kiss he and Draco had shared in cloakroom or even the accidental brush of Draco’s lips against his neck a few days ago.

He flopped onto his back again, uncomfortable in every sense of the word. He didn’t feel like he knew the person who was living in his skin anymore, and it was making him restless and itchy. He threw back the covers, not bothering to grab his trousers or shirt as he slipped out of his room, padding silently down the corridor.

He rounded the corner into the sitting room cautiously, half expecting Draco to be awake. But the blond was sleeping, his blankets in disarray on the Transfigured bed, a sign of a restless night. Harry wondered if he was to blame for the way Draco’s face was twisted into a grimace. He hoped he hadn’t brought up bad memories for him, though he knew it was likely. Draco had been blasé about how his parents had handled his admission that he was bisexual, but Harry doubted that was the whole story. Perhaps there had been more at play than Draco’s view on blood politics when his father had all but disowned him.

Harry leaned against the wall, content to just watch Draco sleep. Even though it was obvious he wasn’t resting peacefully, the blond was indescribably beautiful. He was barely illuminated in the dark room, but there was enough moonlight for Harry to make out his features, from his strong jaw line to his full lips to his prominent cheekbones. A fringe of white-blond hair fell over his forehead, and Harry had an insane urge to sweep it away so he could see the rest of his face. He’d never let himself study another man like this before, and it felt strangely invigorating. He knew if he gave in to temptation and ran his fingers along Draco’s jaw it would be rough with stubble, just like his own. He already knew what his bare chest would feel like, smooth and muscular without even a hint of coarse hair. His gaze dropped to the blanket slung over Draco’s hips, his cheeks flushing as he imagined what it would be like to actually touch another man. Would wrapping his hand around Draco’s cock feel like wrapping his hand around his own?

Harry snuck back out of the room, his mind buzzing with questions. Now that he’d taken the final step – admitting to himself that he was attracted to men and wanted to pursue that attraction – it was as though a barrier had been removed; his mind was flooded with thoughts and questions. He gave the bed a longing glance as he entered the room, but he knew any efforts to sleep would be futile. He was too keyed up for sleep. Part of him that had been locked away for years was free, and it was exhilarating to know he’d never have to lock it up again. Even if Draco  _ was  _ lying about how his news would be received in the wizarding world, Harry knew he could never go back to pretending that part of him didn’t exist.

He grabbed a pair of running shorts from the floor, slipping into them quietly. He hadn’t set his Silencing Charm yet tonight, and he didn’t want to wake Draco. Maybe he could work off some of this nervous energy by going for a run.

***

Draco was waiting for him when he got back to the cottage just before dawn. He hadn’t thought to leave the other man a note, and the blond had been nearly frantic with worry at waking to find the house empty in the middle of the night. They’d both gone back to their beds exhausted after he returned, and Harry hadn’t resurfaced until lunchtime.

He found Draco sitting on the beach underneath an umbrella he’d dragged from the shed. He Levitated the tray of lemonade and sandwiches he’d made onto the small table next to him, grinning when the blond jumped in surprise to see him there.

“Morning,” Harry said, not sure how to address Draco after their conversation the day before. He felt closer to him but also more unsure of him, and he didn’t know what to do about it.

“More like afternoon,” Draco said, taking the proffered glass of lemonade. He held the cool glass up to his forehead, letting the condensation run down his face. Harry watched the droplets of water, wondering what it would be like to trace them with his tongue.

“Finally get some sleep?” Draco asked, taking a drink of his lemonade and setting it back on the tray. 

Harry blinked, forcing himself to focus. He’d made a few decisions during his late-night run, and it was time to act on them. He was far from self-confident, but he’d realized that he needed to start putting himself first, taking care of the things  _ he _ wanted to do instead of doing what everyone else wanted him to do. 

“A bit,” Harry said, biting his lip in his nervousness. “I can’t believe I’m doing this.”

Draco looked up, curious as to what would make Harry sound so hesitant. After everything they’d been through yesterday, what could he possibly have to say that would cause him to look so terrified?

“I’ve been wanting to do something, but I didn’t want to ask you because I didn’t know how you’d react,” Harry said, fidgeting restlessly. “And you can say no. Merlin, of  _ course _ you’ll say no. But I won’t know until I ask, will I? I promised myself I’d stop letting my past dictate my future, and part of that is learning to ask for what I want.”

Draco swallowed, his throat going dry at the look on Harry’s face. What on earth would cause this sort of anxiety? He already knew Harry’s deepest, darkest secrets, didn’t he? Draco felt his pulse jump, and he wondered if Harry was about to ask him to give him pointers about being with a man. Or  _ Merlin _ , even ask him to experiment with him. He was instantly hard, grateful for the book he’d folded into his lap when Harry joined him on the beach. He was sure it was just his overactive libido talking, but what if Harry  _ did _ want to take advantage of their seclusion on the island to learn more about sex with a man?

“It’s just not something I’ve ever really properly gotten the chance to do, you know? I mean, there was a lot of it that year Ron and Hermione and I spent on the run, but it’s hardly the same, yeah?”

Draco was completely lost now. Harry and Ron hadn’t – had they?

“So I guess I should just ask,” Harry said, laughing at himself a bit when he realized how convoluted he sounded. “Draco, do you want to go camping with me again?”


	9. Aug. 26

**Aug. 26**

Draco lay motionless on top of his sleeping bag, nearly touching Harry’s leg. The dark-haired man slept on, oblivious, but Draco was painfully aware it was there – just like he was painfully aware of the erection straining against his sleep trousers.

He closed his eyes, trying to will himself to sleep. They’d spent the day swimming, fishing and flying, so he should by all rights be exhausted, but he was exhilarated instead. Harry really seemed to have reached a turning point after their discussion yesterday. He’d half-expected the man to return to his sullen state the morning after, but Harry had surprised him, opening up even more about his childhood and asking to go camping, of all things.

He’d wanted to say no. Malfoys didn’t camp as a rule, and he in particular had hang-ups about it, mostly because he and Severus had spent several horrible weeks on the run camping after Dumbledore’s death. When Harry had explained that his memories of camping were similar – months spent living in a dreary, dilapidated tent with little heat and less food – Draco had, quite predictably, caved. 

He sighed quietly, exasperated with the push-over he’d become. He’d had quite a bit of time to think about it – Pansy would call it  _ obsess _ over it, but he preferred to think he was simply mulling things over – and he’d come to realize that Harry had been an important person in his life ever since he started Hogwarts. At some point the loathing turned to intrigue, culminating with the kiss in the cloakroom that they still hadn’t discussed. After that it had been a slow descent into madness for him, ending with him stranded on this godforsaken island with Harry and not resenting him or their situation one bit. It made absolutely no sense. Draco knew he should be livid at being torn away from his life for a month, but he’d had more fun in these last few weeks with Harry – even the moody, tetchy man Harry was at the moment – than he could ever remember having before. At some point he knew he was going to have to either confess to having feelings for Harry or walk away from him completely; after spending weeks secluded together there was going to be no middle ground when they returned. 

His erection wilted at the thought of going back to the Harry-free existence he’d lead before coming to the island. Aside from working with Susan on Harry’s affairs at the firm, he’d have no reason to see the man. Draco frowned, watching Harry shift restlessly in his sleep. He imagined Harry would propose they remain friends back in London, but he really didn’t see how that could work. The feelings he had for Harry were definitely well past friendliness, and he didn’t think he had it in him to stand by and watch Harry start dating. 

Harry moaned, startling Draco out of his thoughts. He sat up, ready to intervene if he was having nightmares again. He’d been expecting it, really. Harry’s nightmares seemed to be tied to his emotional state, and he’d definitely been through the emotional wringer lately. Harry quieted, though, and Draco relaxed, laying back down on his side and propping himself up on his elbow. He really ought to go out and sit by the fire or something – he was bound to wake Harry with his restlessness, and sleep seemed impossible at the moment.

They were back in the tiny tent they’d used on their first camping expedition, but this time it was a bit more comfortable, since they’d brought pillows and blankets from the cottage. The sleeping bag he’d hated last time was actually passable now that he’d laid several layers of blankets underneath it. The Cushioning Spells they’d tried last time had worn off before morning, leaving both of them sore and cranky when they woke.

Harry turned over, his leg brushing against Draco’s as he moved in his sleep. Draco scooted away, his back flush with the side of the tent to give Harry more room. He’d learned last time that the dark-haired wizard thrashed in his sleep, which had been another reason he’d been reluctant to repeat the camping experience. It would have made sense to simply spell the tent larger, but Harry had been adamant that it wouldn’t have been a true Muggle camping adventure if they used magic to enhance the space. He’d similarly eschewed any sort of charms to keep them warm or dry this time around, though Draco hadn’t budged on his insistence on wards around the campsite to keep them safe from animals. He’d also used a discreet  _ Incendio _ to start the fire after Harry had tried unsuccessfully to light one with something he’d called a flint.

Draco shifted, trying to get comfortable in his new position. The blankets he’d folded underneath his sleeping bag were all twisted from his restless movements, and he knew he’d wake Harry if he tried to sort them out. The dark-haired man moaned again, and Draco sat up with a sigh, certain sleep wasn’t in his future. He knew Harry preferred to suffer through his nightmares in silence, but that seemed ridiculous to him. The last time they’d shared a tent Harry had been restless, but he hadn’t woken up screaming. Draco had hoped it meant the other man slept better when he was near – that was part of the reason he’d agreed to spend a few days camping on the other side of the island. 

Harry rolled, and Draco braced himself for an onslaught of flailing limbs. Instead, what he saw made his throat go dry – and his cock go instantly harder than he could ever remember being. Harry wasn’t having a bad dream, he was having what looked like a very  _ good _ dream, from what Draco could see. The outline of Harry’s erection strained against the cotton sleep pants he was wearing, a bit of precome oozing through the thin fabric. Harry groaned again, but this time Draco could see him thrust his hips up as though seeking contact with a dream partner. Draco’s cock pulsed with arousal, and his skin suddenly felt flushed and hot. The tiny tent gave him no room to back away, not that Draco would have given up his front-row seat for anything. Harry whimpered softly, tossing restlessly. His pink lips parted and he moaned when his hand brushed his erection as he moved, and Draco shivered with need, wanting nothing more than to brush Harry’s hand aside and replace it with his own. 

Draco held his breath, not trusting himself to keep quiet. He crawled carefully out of the tent, grateful they’d left the flap open to capture some of the cool evening breeze. He doubted Harry was sleeping deeply enough not to notice him unzipping it, and he definitely needed to get away before he did something he’d regret. 

The sand was cool under his feet, and it felt good against his hot skin. He padded quietly toward the water, wondering if he should just give in and wank or take a quick dip in the water to help calm himself down. He didn’t want to go anywhere near the tent until Harry’s dream reached its natural conclusion, whether he woke up to take care of things himself or simply slept through and dreamt himself to orgasm. Either way, Draco wanted to give Harry privacy – he was more turned on than he’d been in his life from just  _ watching _ the dream; he imagined Harry would be absolutely mortified if he woke up sticky and panting with Draco awake next to him.

Draco hesitated on the shore, casting a quick glance back at the tent. He’d need a plausible excuse for his absence anyway, so he may as well swim. He shucked his sleep pants, hissing as the fabric rubbed against his erection, and tossed them far enough up the beach that the incoming tide wouldn’t get them. He waded into the water, which was warm enough not to be jarring but still cool enough to bring his arousal down a notch, until he was waist-deep, his feet planted against the sandy bottom.

He couldn’t help but watch the tent as he wrapped his hand around his aching cock, knowing that Harry was either wanking at this moment or at least close to coming in his dream. His harsh breathing was lost in the sound of the waves, so he didn’t feel self-conscious about trying to be quiet as he stroked himself toward an embarrassingly quick orgasm. The sight of Harry’s pajama-clad erection was burned into his mind, and he indulged himself in fantasy as he fisted himself. What would it have been like to reach underneath the waistband of those thin trousers and pull them down? Would his first taste of Harry’s cock have been sweet or musky? Would Harry cry out as he took him gently in his mouth, letting his tongue run over veins and ridges before dipping into his slit for more of a taste? Or would he be the type to fist his hands in the bedclothes, his hips bucking and his breathing rough as he rode Draco’s mouth to completion without uttering a word?

Draco cried out, his entire body tensing as he came. He stroked himself through his orgasm, not even fighting to hold back the groan that slipped past his lips as his fantasy-Harry exploded as well. His mouth watered at the imagined taste of Harry’s come, bitter and salty but also somehow infused with the taste of sunshine and fresh grass, the way Harry’s skin had tasted when he tasted his neck a few days ago.

Draco blew out a breath, wondering if he should be angry at himself for indulging in a fantasy he knew wasn’t ever likely to happen. Just because Harry liked men didn’t mean he’d be interested in Draco, and if he showed his interest in Harry too soon he knew he might scare the other man away. There was no sound or motion from the tent, but Draco wanted to stay away for a bit longer before going back and trying to sleep. He was exhilarated by his orgasm and not at all tired, so he floated on his back, watching the night sky. It really was amazing how many stars were visible here, far from the light pollution and cloudiness of London. 

He had no idea how long he’d floated there, relaxing in the warm water and letting his mind wander, before he heard Harry calling to him from the shore.

“Are you alright? Draco?” Harry called, and Draco sat up in the water, surprised to find himself further down from the tent than he’d anticipated.

“Fine, just enjoying a swim,” he called back, cutting through the water with sure strokes as he swam toward the campfire he could see flickering in the distance. The shore was too dark to see Harry, but he figured the man hadn’t wandered far from camp. 

***

Harry could barely see Draco as the man swam back toward shore. He’d been grateful when he’d woken, covered in sweat and harder than wand wood, to find himself alone in the small tent. He’d cast a quick  _ Homenum Revelio _ to ensure he was truly alone before shoving his hand down the front of his sleep trousers and pulling himself off to a quiet and unsatisfying orgasm. It wasn’t until he’d cleared away the mess and righted the blankets that he realized the spell hadn’t revealed Draco’s presence anywhere near the tent. 

He’d been too aroused and muzzy from his dream to worry at first, but now that he’d woken properly and dealt with his erection he felt a streak of concern about the blond’s whereabouts. Draco wasn’t too keen on the idea of sleeping outside, so Harry couldn’t imagine him going out for a midnight hike or swim. His face flushed as he wondered if his dream had woken Draco, forcing the other man out of the tent. He clenched his jaw, hoping against hope he hadn’t been talking in his sleep, as he’d been known to do on occasion. Merlin only knew what the other man would have heard – his own name, moaned over and over again? 

Harry pushed his embarrassment away, determined to find Draco. A  _ Tempus _ charm revealed it was just after 2 a.m., definitely too late for Draco to be out exploring on his own, even if he was inclined to do that sort of thing, which he wasn’t.

He started off down the beach, casting the charm every few meters. He nearly tripped over Draco’s wadded up sleep pants, which made his blush start up all over again. He picked them up, folding them carefully over his arm as he continued walking down the beach. He  _ definitely _ didn’t need to be confronted with a naked Draco Malfoy after the dream he’d just had. His cock twitched with interest at the thought, but Harry forced himself to concentrate on casting  _ Homenum Revelio _ again and again until he finally saw a prick of light out in the water. 

Sighing in relief at finding the other man – even if he’d found him skinny dipping meters off shore, which did nothing to calm his over-active libido – he called out to him, smiling when Draco called back. Now that he knew where he was, he could just see the moonlight glinting off Draco’s white-blond hair as he swam back to shore. He made good progress, since he was swimming with the current. Harry tried not to imagine what his strong shoulders would look like as he cut through the water, muscles rippling underneath pale, wet skin as his arms broke the surface of the waves.

Harry shivered, suddenly aware that he was wearing nothing but his sleep pants. It was cool but pleasant out, but he wasn’t sure he could trust himself to be half-naked around Draco when the other man was wet and completely nude. He dropped Draco’s pajama trousers at the edge of the water line, backing up to sit a few meters down the beach where he could avert his eyes when the blond made his way out of the water. 

“I don’t have my wand,” Draco said, and Harry jumped. The other man had made it back to shore faster than he’d imagined he would, and he hadn’t been prepared for his voice to cut through the silence. “Could you spell me dry?”

Harry swallowed, steeling himself as he looked over at the blond. He couldn’t very well do the spell if he couldn’t see the object he wanted to dry. Draco apparently had no compunction about standing there completely naked, Harry noted. He didn’t look the slightest bit embarrassed, though he had no reason to be, either. From what Harry could see – and that was damn near everything, he noted with a tinge of arousal – Draco had a fabulous body. His pale skin glinted wetly in the faint light, and Harry’s eyes followed a few rivulets of water as they dripped from his spiky wet hair down over his collarbone, gliding over his toned chest and further down over defined abs before disappearing into a nest of coarse blond hair at his pelvis. 

Harry raised his wand, flicking it at Draco before the other man could notice his appraisal. He didn’t trust his voice, so he used a nonverbal spell, grateful the Ministry had insisted all Aurors master the skill before they were approved for active duty. He’d balked at the requirement at the time, but now it seemed like a very good idea – if not for that, he might have embarrassed himself greatly by stammering or drooling.

“Thanks,” Draco said, interest flickering in his grey eyes as he watched Harry nod curtly and look away. He’d noticed the way Harry had studied his naked body, and it had pleased him greatly to know the other man wasn’t immune to his charms. He pulled on the sleep pants Harry had left for him, snapping the waistband so Harry would know it was safe to look again.

“Midnight swim?” Harry asked, trying to sound nonchalant. He’d sounded panicked and confused instead, but Draco didn’t let on.

“I couldn’t sleep. It was too bloody hot in that tiny tent,” he answered with a shrug as they walked back toward the fire. He was a bit chilly after spending so long in the water, and the night air wasn’t warm enough to stop him from shivering. “The water felt good.”

Harry cast a suspicious sidelong glance at him, but he couldn’t tell if Draco was lying or not. He bit back a grin; he knew Draco could lie as easily as he breathed, but he’d never asked him if it was a trait he’d learned as a Slytherin or a lawyer. Perhaps it was simply a Malfoy birthright, he mused.

“I’m sure it did. It was a bit … hot.”

A small smile curved Draco’s lips at Harry’s words. Was he intentionally flirting with him or just being Harry? He turned to get a better look at the dark-haired man, but for once, Harry’s face wasn’t giving him away.

He waited a few beats, nodding as Harry walked on. From his stance he could see his tanned, muscular back and the way his sleep trousers sat just low enough to show off a strip of white skin where his arse began to curve. Apparently his swim trunks were more modest than the trousers he slept in.

“We should spell it a bit bigger,” Draco said, catching up to Harry with a few long strides. Harry wrinkled his nose at the idea, and Draco’s pulse jumped at the thought that perhaps the dark-haired man  _ wanted _ to sleep that close to him. “Or we could use a Cooling Charm. I know you want to do things the Muggle way, but –”

“A Cooling Charm would be alright,” Harry said quickly, not wanting to admit that his nightmares were less frequent when he shared the bed with someone. He and Ginny hadn’t slept in the same bed in over a year, so it had been awhile since Harry’d had any respite from his dreams. The night he and Draco had camped out after their Navigation Charm failed Harry had gotten one of the best night’s sleep he’d ever had. He didn’t know if it was simply being near someone or being near Draco that did it.

Draco shrugged, secretly pleased with Harry’s quick answer. It was frustration as hell to be that close to Harry and not be able to touch him, but it was better than  _ not _ being close to Harry.

Neither man seemed anxious to go back to sleep when they returned to camp, so Harry suggested they make s’mores over the fire. Draco was dubious about roasting anything over the flames on a stick, which he pointed out was wood and therefore highly flammable, but he went along with Harry’s idea, since it seemed to make him happy. Harry’s boyish good looks were magnified when he was excited about something, and Draco grinned when he saw that something as simple as cooking a marshmallow over a fire could make Harry so giddy.

Draco had never tasted the concoction before, but he had to admit that at least some of Harry’s excitement was warranted. The gooey, messy treats were hard to eat but tasted delicious. Harry let his marshmallows sit over the fire until they were nearly blackened, claiming it gave them a better depth of flavor. Draco preferred to just get his a bit brown – that way they held together enough for him to eat instead of dripping down his chin into the sand, like Harry’s did.

“You should at least  _ try _ one this way,” Harry protested, deftly sandwiching another charred marshmallow between the chocolate and graham crackers. He grinned as the marshmallow oozed out the sides, hot sugar scalding his wrist where it dripped down his hand. 

Draco rolled his eyes but leaned forward, taking a bite of the s’more Harry held up to his lips. The intimacy of the position didn’t strike him until the gooey marshmallow hit his tongue, and though he was surprised to note that Harry was right, it  _ did _ taste better that way, the realization was secondary to the one that Harry was leaning forward as well. Draco barely dared to breath as Harry’s full lips came closer, his grey eyes sliding shut when he felt them feather against the side of his mouth. 

“You had a little marshmallow just there,” Harry said, sounding out of breath himself. 

Draco opened his eyes and found himself staring into Harry’s green gaze. His pupils were dilated, making his eyes look darker, and Draco hoped it was arousal and not just an effect of the flickering fire. 

“Thanks,” he said, not recognizing his own strangled voice. He waited to see if Harry would move away, and when he didn’t, he closed the gap between them again, gently covering Harry’s lips with his own for a proper kiss.

Harry couldn’t believe he’d actually  _ licked _ marshmallow off Draco’s face. He’d lost himself watching the blond take a bite of the treat, and before he knew it he’d been leaning in, unable to stop himself from tasting Draco. And now he was leaning into an even better kiss, letting Draco steer them as they explored each others’ mouths. He didn’t even know when he’d parted his lips, but he must have, since Draco’s tongue was stroking his with slow, tentative movements that even Harry in all his inexperience could tell were designed not to scare him off.

He wished the kiss would continue forever, but Draco pulled away, breaking the trance Harry had been in. His cheeks immediately flushed scarlet at what he’d just done. The kiss had been fabulous, better than any he’d ever shared with Ginny. Better than the best kiss he’d ever had, which he’d also shared with Draco. That one had been accidental and clumsy, but there had been nothing awkward about this one.

Harry sat back on his heels, dazed by the emotions flitting through his mind. He knew he should be ashamed he’d kissed another man, but it had been far too pleasurable to regret. The fact that it had been  _ Draco _ – he didn’t know whether to be pleased or worried he’d just spoiled their growing friendship. It was going to be hard going back to London, and he didn’t want to do it without Draco by his side, in whatever capacity he wanted to be.

Draco took a deep breath, watching Harry’s inner struggle. It was easy to follow his thoughts, both since they were predictable and because his face was like a mirror to his mind when he was preoccupied. When he started to look more concerned than confused, Draco decided to step in.

“Don’t second guess it,” he said softly, leaning in and pressing a chaste kiss against the side of Harry’s mouth, much like the one that had started things before. “Let’s turn in for the night, yeah? See how things look in the morning. I promise if you regret it we won’t repeat it. And if you don’t –” he broke off, giving Harry an impish grin designed to reassure and amuse him. “– well, if you don’t, we’ll see what happens.”


	10. Aug. 27

**Aug. 27**

Harry woke feeling peaceful and contented in a way he hadn’t felt in years, and the reason was sprawled next to him in a tangle of limbs and blond hair. They’d turned in soon after the kiss – Harry smiled in spite of himself, remembering the feeling of Draco’s lips on his – and Harry had almost instantly fallen asleep. Amazing, considering his mind had been racing a mile a minute.

Draco seemed to sense that he was awake, shifting restlessly and turning toward him. Harry held himself still as the man curved around him, snuggling into his warmth. For all his talk last night of taking things slow, and Harry had no reason to doubt he would, it seemed like Draco’s body recognized the shift in their relationship and sought Harry out in his sleep.

Harry relaxed into Draco’s loose embrace, just enjoying his nearness. He’d missed this intimacy – it wasn’t something he’d had with Gin for a long time. He tensed when he felt Draco’s hard cock against his hip, a feeling akin to panic rushing through him at the contact. He breathed a sigh of relief when he realized the other man wasn’t awake. He wasn’t quite ready to take any steps past kissing yet, but he was happy to cuddle closer and fall back to sleep for a few more hours.

The sun had long since risen, and the Cooling Charms they’d used in the tent had worn off sometime after Harry had first awoken at dawn. It wasn’t sweltering by any means, but he was getting sweaty with Draco against him. He wiggled out from underneath him, crawling out of the tent and stretching. They’d brought supplies to do all their cooking the Muggle way, but it suddenly seemed less important to Harry to have an authentic experience. He grabbed his wand out of his bag, filling the tin pot they’d brought to make tea with water and heating it with a charm before dropping the tea bags in. Draco hated tea bags, but it was all they had here on the island. Harry couldn’t tell the difference, but Draco swore he could.

Harry put the tea under a Warming Charm and briefly contemplated crawling back into the tent for some clothes, but he didn’t want to wake Draco. They’d brought a suitable array of fruits, vegetables and tinned food from the cottage, but he was in the mood for bacon and eggs. He stretched out in the cool sand, drinking his tea and staring out at the water, wondering what he should do.

***

“Mrs. Malfoy, I assure you –”

Pansy faltered as she saw the pure fury snapping in Narcissa’s eyes. She took an unconscious step back from the Floo, wishing Theo was home. It was likely that the Malfoy matriarch knew he was out late tonight celebrating Blaise’s impending nuptials and had purposefully chosen to Firecall now because of it. Pansy forced herself to straighten her spine, unwilling to be intimidated in her own home, especially by a woman who couldn’t even leave her own Manor thanks to the Ministry tracking bracelet on her ankle.

“Let me assure  _ you _ , Miss Parkinson, that if any harm has come to my son you will be  _ very _ sorry,” Narcissa spat, the green tinge her face took on in the flames making her look even more ominous.

Pansy nearly laughed at the threat, feeling on more even ground. While they were still a formidable couple, with enough money and influence to make things difficult for their enemies, the elder Malfoys definitely weren’t in a position to issue threats like that – especially about Draco, since Pansy knew he hadn’t spoken to either of his parents in years. Ever the dutiful son and heir, he sent them a missive each Christmas about happenings in his life, but to her knowledge he’d never gotten – or expected – a response.

“Mrs. Malfoy, Draco is perfectly safe. He is recovering from –”

“The rest of the world might buy your story, but I know he’s not recuperating in some private hospital. Not that he could  _ afford _ such a thing, even if he  _ was _ ill,” she sneered.

Narcissa sniffed as she looked around Pansy’s modest sitting room, noting the modern furniture and sparse decoration. The fact that her son had chosen to turn his back on his heritage had meant little to her – what had the belief in blood purity done for her family? She and Draco were the last of the Black line, unless one counted Andromeda and her half-breed grandson. Her sister had died in the service of a madman, and her cousins had died without heirs, one of them at her sister’s hand. The proud and noble Black line, exterminated by a ridiculous war, and her son, her beautiful, talented son, reduced to living like a veritable pauper because his father was too stubborn to admit he had been wrong. 

Pansy felt a pang of sympathy for the woman. She knew Narcissa was judging her life – and Draco’s – and finding them both lacking, especially since she’d seen a similar expression on her own mother’s face the few times she’d lowered herself enough to visit. It was pity and revulsion and regret, all mixed into one.

“The firm is doing well,” Pansy said. She couldn’t help but defend the choices they’d made, even though it was beside the point. “Draco doesn’t want for anything.” 

_ Except for Potter _ , she added mentally, hoping against hope  _ that _ particular problem was being sorted. They were due back in a few short days, and if he hadn’t made his move on the wizard she’d castrate him herself. The last month had been hell, between juggling the extra work load at the firm, showing Ron the ropes and dealing with keeping suspicion off Draco’s absence. 

Narcissa sneered at her incredulously, and Pansy gritted her teeth.

“Draco had dragon pox when he was three years old,” Narcissa said, her eyes narrowed. “If you don’t want me to put out a public appeal for my son’s welfare, then I suggest you start from the beginning. The truth this time.”

***

Draco burrowed deeper into his sleeping bag, vaguely aware that he wasn’t in a proper bed. The reason for it didn’t click in his sleep-fogged mind for several seconds, but when he realized he was in a tent and not the cottage he blinked to almost instant awareness, pushing himself up onto his elbow and looking around for Harry.

His heart sank when he realized the dark-haired man wasn’t there. He blew out a frustrated breath and climbed out of the sleeping bag, wondering if he should go looking for him or just let him be alone. Last night’s kiss had been spectacular, and it had filled him with hope that there might be some sort of future for the two of them. But he’d meant what he said to Harry afterward, that he wouldn’t push him for more than he could give and he would honor whatever Harry chose to do in the morning, even if it meant pretending last night’s kiss hadn’t happened.

Sighing loudly, he got up, grabbing a pair of swim trunks and a book. When Harry got into a funk he could disappear for hours, and Draco had no idea when he’d left. He changed quickly, snagging his wand to apply a quick Sunblock Charm before stepping out into the bright early afternoon light. He and Harry had strung hammocks between a few sturdy trees yesterday when they set up camp, and he figured his time would be better spent reading in one of them than worrying about Harry’s whereabouts.

He smiled when he saw the cup of tea sitting on the flat rock they’d christened a make-shift table at dinner the night before. He could feel the slight caress of Harry’s magical signature when he reached for the cup, his own magic flaring at the faint hint of it. It wasn’t terribly rare to have compatible magic with another witch or wizard, but he’d never experienced the combination of compatible magic and lust before. The taste he’d gotten of it that night in the cloakroom had been enough to convince him he needed more in his life than one-night stands and meaningless flings, but it hadn’t been until last night’s kiss that he’d realized the only person he could envision having that with was Harry. 

Draco sipped the tea, grimacing at the bitter aftertaste. Harry must not be too angry about the night before if he’d left him tea, Draco reasoned, taking another drink before pouring the rest of the vile liquid into the sand and climbing into the nearby hammock. He’d been excited to find a battered copy of a relatively rare potions book in the cottage’s library, no doubt left there by a previous vacationer, and he settled in to read while he waited to see what had become of Harry.

***

Harry circled low over the camp site, laughing when he realized Draco was asleep in a hammock, an old book tented on his chest. It had taken him longer than he’d expected to fly back to the cottage and make breakfast, and longer still to figure out how to transport the food back on his broom. He’d settled for stashing it all in a large picnic basket he’d found in the pantry, but the trip back had been much slower because he’d been forced to balance the unwieldy thing in front of him as he flew.

He landed carefully, hefting the sizable basket with both hands so he didn’t drop it. It took him a few minutes to unpack everything, but the clatter of cutlery didn’t wake Draco. Harry grinned, bounding over to him and setting the hammock swinging with a hard push.

Draco came awake instantly, nearly falling out of the swaying contraption when he tried to sit up in alarm. He rolled his eyes when he saw Harry laughing, folding his arms over his chest and huffing out an exasperated sigh that made the dark-haired wizard laugh even harder.

“I went back to the cottage to make breakfast, and while I was there I thought I may as well make us a real fry-up,” Harry said cheerfully, nodding over his shoulder at the rock, which now held a ridiculous amount of food. Draco inhaled, his mouth watering at the smell of bacon and coffee. 

“I thought you’d left,” Draco said, swinging his legs over the hammock and padding across the sand toward breakfast.

Harry shot him a confused look, handing him a plate laden with food.

“How could I leave? We’re here for four more days.”

Draco paused, his egg-filled fork half-way to his mouth. Harry hadn’t mentioned last night, and he wasn’t sure if he should, either. After all, he’d promised he’d follow Harry’s lead, and Harry seemed content to pretend it never happened.

“Oh. Oh!” Harry said, grinning as understanding dawned. “You thought I regretted kissing you.”

Draco raised an eyebrow, his stomach in knots.

“Well, I do,” Harry said decisively, putting his plate aside. Draco put his down as well, steeling himself for the conversation. He wasn’t prepared for Harry to lean over and place a hand on either side of his face, pulling him in for a clumsy kiss that was over nearly as quickly as it had begun. “I regret waiting so long after the first time to try it again.”

Draco laughed when Harry released him, relief coursing through him. This playfulness wasn’t something he’d seen much in Harry, and he had a feeling he was going to enjoy getting to know this unexpected side of the dark-haired man.


	11. Aug. 30

**Aug. 30**

Draco didn’t think he’d ever been so physically active in his life, not even back when he’d played Quidditch at Hogwarts. Every muscle in his body ached, including a few he’d not had the privilege of meeting before Harry introduced him to the joys of Muggle sports.

He stood under the hot shower spray, letting the water relax his aching back. Harry seemed determined to fill every second of their remaining days on the island with arduous activities, and he wondered if the dark-haired man really was a sports enthusiast or if the exhausting schedule had a different purpose. They’d kissed a few more times since the camping trip, and last night Harry had even agreed to mutual hand-jobs after their snogging became heated. It had been thrilling but not nearly enough for Draco.

He sighed, his arms too tired to even consider wanking, despite the interest his cock was showing as he remembered the feel of Harry’s tentative hand on his erection, stroking him clumsily to completion. They’d been out in kayaks today, something he’d never done before. His time with Harry seemed destined to be full of firsts – the first time he’d willingly gone camping, the first time he’d tried any sort of Muggle sport, the first time he’d been willing to wait so long for sex with a new partner. 

He stretched his shoulders, grimacing at the burn in his upper arms. They’d gone rock climbing the day before, making it to the top of the small mountain on the island just before sunset. Harry had brought another picnic, and they’d eaten together as they watched the sun disappear into the sea, sharing wine and stories until the stars lit the sky. They’d laid side-by-side on the cool, craggy stone, making up stories about the constellations Draco pointed out. They’d even seen a shooting star, and Draco had found himself sad he didn’t have a more fanciful nature as he’d watched Harry’s brilliant green eyes flutter closed as he wished on it. He was too cynical to wish on a star, too practical to pin any hopes on a chunk of intergalactic rock hurtling through the atmosphere, no matter how pretty its path.

Harry hadn’t told him what he’d wished for, claiming it wouldn’t come true if he shared it with anyone. But seconds later, when his mouth closed over Draco’s, his wet tongue tracing the seam between his lips begging entry, Draco couldn’t help but hope the wish had been about them.

He rinsed the shampoo from his hair, wincing as the motion pulled at the sore muscles in his shoulders and back. They only had one more day – and one more night – on the island before the Portkey returned them to London early on Sept. 1. He had no idea where the Portkey would spit them out, or who would be waiting for them. He desperately hoped it would be somewhere private; he didn’t want to test the bounds of their undefined relationship the second they got back by being confronted by Ginny or any of their friends.

He turned the water off reluctantly, running a towel through his hair and then wrapping it around his waist. He wiped the steam off the mirror, examining his face to see if he needed to shave. It felt silly to be preening at this hour – they’d returned from their kayaking rather late, and Harry was puttering around in the kitchen putting dinner together while he waited for his turn in the shower – but he knew Harry hated the feeling of stubble against his skin, so Draco had been careful to keep his jaw smooth these last few days. He deemed himself passable, tilting his head to admire the healthy color his skin had taken on over the last month, despite judicious applications of Sunblock Charms. He was still much paler than Harry’s golden brown, but unmistakably tanned himself.

Draco opened the door to the corridor, letting steam escape from the room. He poked his head out the door, looking for Harry. He could hear the rattle of pans in the kitchen, so he ducked back inside, confident he wasn’t holding Harry up with his extra-long shower. He dropped his towel, reaching for the jar of healing salve he’d brought in with him. The angry purple bruise that ran from his ribs around to his hip was healing well, though it was still tender to the touch. He dabbed the salve on it carefully, noting that in some places it had already started fading to green. 

“I shouldn’t have made you try it,” Harry said from the open doorway, startling Draco. He dropped the jar of salve, which rolled toward Harry’s feet.

Draco recovered and rolled his eyes, focusing his attention back on coating the bruise with a thin layer of the salve. He hadn’t protested when Harry had suggested hang gliding, and he had no one to blame but himself for his injury. It hadn’t been Harry’s fault that he’d landed badly, but the dark-haired wizard had been trying to make up for it ever since.

Harry stooped to pick up the jar just as Draco turned toward him, and his heart stuttered when he found himself unexpectedly at eye-level with Draco’s cock, nestled in a bed of coarse blond hair and looking utterly tempting. He licked his lips, wondering if he truly had the courage to do what he wanted to try.

Draco noticed Harry’s interest immediately, his flaccid cock filling with blood instantly under the other man’s gaze. He heard Harry gasp softly as his erection grew, his eyes locked on Draco’s member until it was jutting proudly out at full hardness.

“Harry –”

Draco couldn’t tell if Harry was aroused or horrified, but the unexpectedness of the situation hadn’t given him much opportunity to school his own reaction. Having Harry just centimeters from his cock had sent all sorts of images through his mind, and his body had been eager to respond. He took a step back, surprised when Harry dropped fully to his knees and followed him.

“I want to try something,” Harry said, looking up at Draco through a fringe of dark lashes. Draco’s cock twitched at the picture he made, his pink tongue darting out to wet full lips, his green eyes darkened with arousal.

Draco nodded, not trusting himself to speak. How many times had he pictured Harry just like this? Too many to count, but not a single fantasy image held a candle to how intoxicating the other man looked at the moment. 

Harry studied Draco’s cock for a moment, unsure of what to do next. He thought about how it had felt to wrap his hand around the hard length, feeling the ridges and veins under his palm. Would he be able to feel them against his tongue? Harry shivered, scooting closer to Draco and steeling himself, drawing on his own desire to give him the courage he needed.

Draco nearly lost it the moment Harry nuzzled his face against his cock, burying his nose in the tufts of blond hair and breathing in his scent. He groaned, leaning back on the counter behind him for support as Harry’s stubbled cheek brushed against his erection, the rough touch like lightning in his veins. Draco loved the rugged look on Harry, and he’d teased him about it all month, telling him he looked like a disheveled pirate with his dark stubble and tanned skin. The dark edge the stubble gave to Harry’s boyish good looks was thrilling, though he could never convince him to go for more than a day or two without shaving.

Draco’s knees weakened when Harry’s tongue darted out, tracing a thick line up his shaft. He watched Harry sit back on his heels, his face serious as though he was contemplating the texture and taste of Draco’s cock. He must have liked it, since he leaned in again, this time swiping the flat of his tongue over the head, tasting the precome that had gathered there. He hummed thoughtfully, the vibration against Draco’s cock making the blond groan.

Harry raised an eyebrow, gathering courage from Draco’s reaction. He opened his mouth wider, taking in the first third of Draco’s erection. He swirled his tongue around the soft skin, amazed at the way Draco writhed and gasped at the slightest touch. He concentrated, trying to move his mouth and tongue in the way Ginny always had, since he at least knew how that felt. Draco groaned again, his hands grabbing the counter behind him and holding onto it tightly to stop himself from grabbing Harry’s head and fucking his mouth. The knowledge that he was the first man Harry had ever done this to made his pulse race even more than the inexpert blow job he was receiving. He gasped Harry’s name when the man ran a hand up his thigh, his fingertips brushing his balls tentatively.

Draco looked down at Harry, a warm feeling unfurling in his chest when he saw the expression of intense concentration on his face. He looked as though he was conducting an important experiment instead of having fun, and Draco decided that needed to change. He pulled his hips back, groaning as Harry’s soft lips slid along his wet skin as he pulled out of his mouth. Harry looked up, his eyes full of concern and questions.

“I’m sorry, I know I –”

“No, you were perfect,” Draco murmured, pulling Harry up from the floor and kissing him. The dark-haired man relaxed, on much more familiar ground with snogging than when his mouth had been wrapped around Draco’s cock. He tensed when he felt Draco start to undress him, forcing himself to relax as the gentle touches and caresses whispered along his skin. He could trust Draco.

Draco maneuvered Harry around, pressing him against the counter he’d been leaning on once he had him naked. He nipped at Harry’s bottom lip, making the other man laugh.

“Your turn,” Draco said, holding his grey gaze steadily on Harry’s as he knelt before him. 

Harry nodded, his eyes wide as he watched Draco grin up at him. He was wholly unprepared for Draco’s next move, crying out in surprise and arousal when the blond parted his lips and wrapped them around his cock, the firm, wet pressure engulfing his entire length as he slid down to the base.

“Oh Jesus,” Harry groaned, panting with the effort of holding himself back. He’d never experienced anything like this before, and it was difficult not to give into the temptation to come on the spot. 

Ginny had certainly never taken him this deep, nor had she been as enthusiastic about it. Draco looked like he was having the time of his life, not doing Harry some sort of disgusting favor. That was confirmed when Draco groaned, his mouth vibrating around Harry’s erection and making the dark-haired man whimper. 

“Draco,” he groaned, feeling his orgasm building quickly in the pit of his belly. He’d never come from oral sex before, but then again, it had never felt like  _ this.  _ Before he could warn Draco, Harry felt his muscles tense, his mind going blank as his orgasm shattered through him, turning his muscles to mush and leaving him shaking.

Draco gave Harry’s cock a few more lazy licks with his tongue before pulling away, grinning at the gobsmacked and satisfied look on Harry’s face. They’d talked about their previous sexual experiences over the last few days, and he knew Harry had never been able to come from Ginny’s feeble attempts at sucking him off. He smirked, taking perverse pleasure in the knowledge that he’d been able to take Harry to the brink in just a few minutes.

He grimaced as he stood, his muscles protesting the move. He’d been sore  _ before _ kneeling on the cold tile, and now that the adrenaline of his unexpected encounter with Harry was fading, he was definitely feeling worse for the wear. His persistent erection didn’t help matters, either. It brushed against the smooth skin of Harry’s hip, pulling the other man out of his stupor.

“That was – I – mmm,” Harry sighed happily as Draco quieted him with a kiss, ending what would have been an awkward moment. He didn’t know whether to thank Draco for the blow job or apologize for coming in his mouth. He was reluctant to try again, since he obviously lacked the skill Draco had in that area, but Draco’s hard cock against his hip reminded him the blond hadn’t come yet.

He started to pull away from the kiss, figuring Draco would want him to return the favor of finishing him off. He was surprised when Draco caught his hand as it wandered lower, returning it to his shoulder.

“Watch?” Draco asked, his grey eyes swirling with arousal. Harry shivered at the huskiness of his voice, his eyes drawn to the slightly swollen lips that had just stretched around his cock. Harry’s heart raced, his arousal building back to fever pitch as he watched Draco wrap his hand around his own thick cock, his long fingers and manicured nails standing out in contrast against the dusky skin.

“You can learn a lot about what a person likes by watching,” Draco said, his tone conversational. He watched Harry through heavily-lidded eyes, a smile curving his lips as he stroked himself. Harry’s gaze was riveted on his erection, and he could see the first stirring of interest in Harry’s spent cock.

Harry swallowed, helpless to do anything but watch as Draco wanked himself with slow, steady strokes. He’d never seen anything this wanton or erotic in his life. He’d also never felt so innocent as he stood in the tiled bathroom. He’d thought himself somewhat experienced, since he’d had sex with Ginny, but he was beginning to believe that he knew virtually nothing about  _ real _ sex.

Draco closed his eyes, biting his lip as he stroked himself faster. He’d been close before, so it didn’t take long before he was spurting into his hand, his chest and face flushed pink with exertion and arousal as he came with a groan.

He opened his eyes to see Harry motionless against the counter, and for a moment he wondered if he’d managed to scare the other man by taking things too fast. Harry stepped forward before he could say anything, though, and lifted Draco’s hand to his lips, his tongue darting out to taste the come on his knuckles. A wicked grin spread over his face as he looked up, making Draco’s pulse jump again.

“Just curious,” he said, not hesitating before stepping closer still to kiss Draco again. 

For a moment Draco wished he was a stronger Legilimens so he could see what Harry was thinking. The man was so unbelievably shy and uptight at times, and then he’d do something to totally surprise Draco. He groaned when Harry ran his fingers through his hair, his fingers tightening against his scalp as he pulled him closer with strong hands. It was then he decided he didn’t care  _ what _ Harry was thinking, so long as those thoughts didn’t interfere with what they were doing.

***

“She said  _ what _ ?”

Pansy sighed heavily as she took another sip of Firewhisky. If anyone had told her she’d be sitting in Hermione Granger-Weasley’s kitchen discussing her latest conversation with the reclusive Narcissa Malfoy a few months ago she’d have called them crazy, yet here she was, watching Ron wash dishes at the sink while Hermione folded laundry at the table with her.

“She said she wanted a visit from Draco as soon as he returns,” Pansy said tiredly, putting her drink aside and leveling her wand at a basket of unfolded clothes. A tiny, toddler-sized T-shirt rose from the pile and folded itself neatly, Levitating over to the stack Hermione was working on.

“He hasn’t talked to her in years, has he?” Ron asked over his shoulder. He’d gotten to know Draco somewhat over the past month, since he’d had to go through his notes and briefs on cases. He’d been surprised to find he liked the way the man thought, from the occasional snarky comment scribbled in the margin of a filing to the precise way his logic unfurled as he plotted out his arguments for trial. He found himself hoping this crazy scheme of Pansy and Hermione’s would work, especially after his sister’s latest ploy for sympathy in the  _ Prophet _ . He gritted his teeth as he thought about the tearful interview she’d given, where she’d sworn she’d only found comfort in another man’s arms when Harry refused to give her what she needed. Public reaction to that one was mixed, but there were still plenty of Ginny-supporters out there calling for Harry’s head. 

“He hasn’t gotten so much as an owl from her since he opened the firm, no,” Pansy confirmed, smiling in spite of herself as a she folded a small Oxford shirt. She and Theo both adored Hugo, and spending time with him had opened up a slew of uncomfortable conversations about when  _ they _ would be having children. 

“Hmm.” Hermione wrinkled her nose thoughtfully, absently refilling Pansy’s glass with her wand when she saw it was low. “You said they didn’t care that Draco likes men, right?”

Pansy shook her head. 

“That’s never been a problem for them, especially since he likes women, too. It was his aversion to another arranged marriage that first came between them, then his very vocal stance on blood politics,” she said, taking another sip of the burning liquid. Her latest summons to Malfoy Manor had left her shaken and worried for Draco. She’d like to believe his mother was interested simply because she cared about him, but it seemed unlikely.

“Dating Harry would give him a lot of political capital, wouldn’t it?” Hermione asked, quirking a brow at Pansy. “Do you think they want to reconcile in the hopes that Harry’s status could get their sentence revoked?”

Pansy shrugged. Anything was possible where the Malfoys were concerned. She hadn’t been forced to talk to Lucius, thank Merlin, but she didn’t doubt that if they continued to use her as their method of getting to Draco that she would have to soon. She just hoped Draco was back before that happened. Lucius Malfoy, even cowed by the Ministry’s monitoring, was a very formidable man, and not one she wanted to meet with alone.


	12. Sept. 2

**Sept. 2**

Draco stretched languidly, rolling over to cuddle against Harry’s warm back. The man had managed to take up most of the bed all night, but he didn’t mind. It had given him a chance to sleep curled up against him.

“Is it morning?” 

Draco pressed a kiss to the back of Harry’s neck, nuzzling against the soft skin. He just couldn’t get enough of Harry.

“Barely,” he answered, lifting his head to look at the clock on his bedside table. They’d stayed at his flat last night, since Ron had told them Ginny hadn’t moved out of Harry’s yet. “You can sleep a few more hours.”

Harry blinked, his eyes adjusting to the darkened room. He could see pink streaks shooting through the grey sky outside. It was nothing like the brilliant sunrises on the island, where the sky went from dark to shot through with sunlight in what seemed like a matter of minutes. He rather preferred the slower sunrise, especially on a morning like this one, where he wanted a good excuse to laze around in bed. With Draco. He grinned, rolling over and kissing the blond.

“Or we could do something else,” he said, feeling unaccountably brave.

They’d fooled around more on their last day on the island, getting to know each others’ bodies and preferences. Harry had been surprised to find he quite liked it when Draco nipped at his earlobes, and he’d been equally surprised to note that the other man had exquisitely sensitive nipples and he that he liked to have them licked.

Draco hadn’t pressured him to do anything he wasn’t ready for, though, which made Harry feel cared for and respected in a way he couldn’t put into words. Now, feeling warm and comfortable in Draco’s bed, wrapped in blankets and sheets that smelled like a combination of the two of them, Harry felt ready to go further. They hadn’t been together long, not in the conventional sense of the word, but he didn’t feel like he was rushing things – in fact, it felt like the entire month they’d been in Costa Rica had been some sort of elaborate foreplay leading up to this moment. 

Draco hummed in approval, molding his body around Harry’s as he deepened the kiss. He groaned when he felt Harry’s knee nudge his thighs apart, sliding between them so he could slide his erection against his. Harry had become so much more comfortable with this kind of intimate contact over the past few days, and something in Draco’s chest swelled at how instinctive the movement had been; Harry wasn’t plotting out each move anymore, terrified of what would happen next.

Harry pulled back when Draco wrapped his hand around his cock, grinning at the question his move prompted in the grey eyes.

“I’d like to try something different,” Harry said, his heart hammering in his chest. “We haven’t – I mean, you know. We’ve done a lot, but we haven’t –”

He blushed, moving his head and shoulders for emphasis. Draco’s eyes widened comically as he finally got Harry’s drift, his cock pulsing at the realization that Harry wanted to have sex.

“Are you sure?” he asked, trying to keep his ton level. He nuzzled Harry’s neck again, his teeth grazing his earlobe lightly. Harry shivered, making a needy noise that had every nerve in Draco’s body standing at attention.

Harry nodded, grinding himself against Draco’s hip to prove just how sure he was. Whatever he was about to say was lost in a groan of frustration when someone started knocking on the front door of the flat.

“Sod off!” Draco growled, ignoring the increasingly loud pounding in favor of pulling Harry back into a deep kiss.

Harry laughed, shoving at Draco’s naked chest. Whoever it was clearly  _ wasn’t _ going to go away, and Harry wasn’t sure they could salvage the moment, anyway. His softening erection practically disappeared when he heard the shrill voice screaming from the corridor.

“Ginny,” he said, his green eyes widening in shock as he looked past the open bedroom door toward the flat’s sitting room.

“Weasley,” Draco snarled, throwing the blankets back and stalking toward the door, completely unconcerned with his nudity.

“Draco!” Harry hissed, scrambling out of bed, pulling the sheet along behind him as he tried to wrap it around his waist.

They were close enough to the door now to hear Ron pleading with his sister quietly, obviously trying to get her to leave. Harry winced at the pitch of her voice when she told him off, and he wondered if she’d been this way since he’d left. The details Ron had offered last night had been sparse, and neither he nor Draco had been through the large stack of clippings from the  _ Prophet _ and other newspapers and magazines that was sitting on Draco’s kitchen table, courtesy of Pansy. 

Before Harry could stop him, Draco had thrown open the door, making Ginny stumble forward since she’d just been leaning in to pound on the it again. She gave him an incredulous look, her brown eyes snapping with fury as she looked him up and down, noting first his identity and then, belatedly, his nudity.

“Oh, that stupid, worthless sack of shite!” she shrieked, trying to push her way past Draco, who was using his body to block the doorway quite effectively. “I should have  _ known _ he would go to  _ you _ . Where is he? Don’t tell me he’s not here, because I  _ know _ he is. Rita Skeeter told me where to find him, though the bint failed to mention what kind of trash he was  _ with. _ ”

Harry stepped up beside Draco, pushing him out of the way slightly so they could both stand there. He had been dreading the confrontation – and certainly none of the scenarios he’d imagined involved having it while naked –, but he knew she wouldn’t go away until she’d said her piece. 

“Gin,” he said, his eyes skimming over her infuriated face and landing on Ron, who was standing behind her. “Ron.”

“Sorry, mate,” Ron said, cringing apologetically. “I’d have warned you if I could, but I didn’t have time. Skeeter’s owl came when I stopped by the Burrow for breakfast this morning, and once I saw the address, well –” he shrugged.

Draco glared at him, but Harry simply nodded in resignation. If Skeeter knew where he was then it was likely the story would be in this morning’s  _ Prophet _ – or in a special afternoon edition, at the very least. Hermione had told them last night that no one had known it had been Draco with him on the island, which meant the revelation that he’d spent a month in a romantic hideaway – and was now shacking up with – Draco Malfoy would be very big news indeed.

Draco sighed, stepping back to allow the siblings to enter his flat. He could just imagine the stories that would crop up in the papers if they had this altercation out in his corridor – it wasn’t a strictly magical complex, but most of the people on his floor were witches or wizards. He was sure they’d jump at the chance to sell their first-hand accounts of the first confrontation between the Boy Who Lived and the Woman Who Left after the failed wedding.

He cut Ginny off when she opened her mouth, holding up his hand tiredly. 

“I’m not doing this naked,” he said shortly, grabbing Harry by the hand and dragging him back toward the bedroom. 

“ _ You _ don’t have anything to do with this at all, you bastard!” Ginny shrieked. Out of the corner of his eye, Draco could see Ron erecting a hasty Silencing Ward, and for the first time he was grateful for the other man’s presence. Perhaps he  _ could _ be of some help. “Harry, I’m not finished! Get back here!”

Harry growled, and Ginny took a step back instinctively. In all the time they’d been together, he’d never lost his temper with her. No matter what – or who – she did, Harry had always kept his even keel. She didn’t like this new Harry at all, and she was positive Malfoy was the one responsible for the change.

“He has everything to do with this, as you well know,” Harry snapped, surprising everyone with the amount of venom in his voice. “Say what you will about me, but you’ll keep a civil tongue about Draco. None of this is his fault.”

Only Ron’s quick action saved a crystal vase from flying toward Draco’s head, making Ginny even angrier that her tantrum had been interrupted. Ron grabbed his sister, forcing her to take a seat with him on the sofa, his arm locked tightly around her shoulders as shot an apologetic look at Harry.

***

“And she just accepted that and left?” Pansy asked, her brows raised skeptically as she looked across the table at Ron. 

He shrugged, feeding a spoonful of mashed potatoes to Hugo.

“She gave him some rubbish about how she could see how he’d never loved her and that it was over, and then she left,” he said, Banishing a flying glob of potatoes before it could hit the floor. Hugo looked at him in frustration, his chubby fists clenched.

“And Draco didn’t hex her?”

Ron laughed, shaking his head. When the spoonful of carrots he’d tried to give his son ended up in his hair, he sighed and stopped trying, handing Hugo a toy instead.

“No, he was quite calm about it. I think it helped that Harry never once let go of his hand,” he said.

“Will she be moving out of the flat?” Hermione asked, handing him a towel to wipe Hugo’s face, since the toddler hated Cleaning Charms.

“No, Harry said she could have it,” he said, rolling his eyes. He’d been against that, as had Draco, but Harry had insisted it was only fair. “I’m going by with him to pick up his things next week. She’s got some ceremony honoring former players with the Harpies, so she won’t be there.”

“Draco’s letting him go without him?” Pansy asked, surprised. She wouldn’t have thought he’d let Harry out of his sight for a few more days, at least.

“He got an owl from his mother,” Ron said, his brown eyes going more serious. “I didn’t ask to read it, but it seemed to be a summons of some sort. He’s going to Malfoy Manor that afternoon.”

Pansy nodded, looking more than a little troubled. She still had no idea why the elder Malfoys were suddenly interested in rekindling their relationship with their son, but she didn’t like it. Her instincts were screaming that it was a bad idea, and she’d learned to trust them over the years. Her hunches were rarely wrong.

***

Harry tried to relax as he watched Draco flip through the menu, but his mind was on overdrive and he found it difficult not to fidget in his seat.

“We can go back to my flat and order take-away,” Draco offered, sensing Harry’s discomfort without even looking up.

“No, this is fine,” Harry said, forcing his leg to stop bouncing. He didn’t want to look like he was nervous to be out with Draco – that wasn’t it at all. In fact, that wasn’t even close. Draco was the only reason he wasn’t a complete mess at the moment.

They could have chosen a Muggle restaurant to keep their dinner more low-key, but both of them were fully expecting an onslaught of reporters and photographers, so they’d decided to dine out at the Leaky Cauldron instead. Draco had said it was good strategy to control what the press saw them doing, and Harry had to agree. The  _ Prophet _ , true to Harry’s prediction, had run a special afternoon section about the two of them, speculating about how long their relationship had been going on and what they’d done on the island. Ginny, of course, had given Skeeter a tearful interview about how hurt she was that Harry had left her for a man, and a Malfoy at that. Draco had laughed at some of the quotes, but Harry knew they’d affected him more deeply than he’d let on. Draco had one insecurity at the moment, and that was losing Harry; even Harry in all his own emotional turmoil could see that.

He reached across the table, covering Draco’s hand with his own. The blond looked up, surprised at the contact. He’d thought it a big enough deal that Harry had agreed to be seen in public with him at all; he’d certainly never expected any actual physical contact.

“I’m fine,” Harry said, squeezing Draco’s hand but not letting go. “I’m just worried about everything that’s going on. Your parents, Ginny – there’s a lot to think about.”

Draco nodded, trying to look casual as he shifted his gaze back to the menu. Inside, though, his heart was racing in his chest. Harry holding his hand in public said more about his feelings for him than Draco had even dared imagine. Everyone – Pansy, Susan, Ron and Hermione – had assured Harry that Ginny’s views on homosexuality weren’t shared by the large majority of the wizarding world, but he’d still been apprehensive about it. When the articles written in the  _ Prophet _ made a bigger deal out of Harry being with someone – male or female – so soon after his broken engagement and never once hinted at outrage that he was with a man, he’d started believing what everyone was telling him. 

Both of them jumped when a flashbulb went off nearby. Draco felt Harry’s hand tighten around his, but he still didn’t let go. The two of them ignored the photographer, renewing their focus on ordering their meal. Hadn’t the whole point of going out been to allow the photographers to take photos like these?

“Go on now,” Harry heard Hannah say, followed by the scraping of a chair against the floor. “I’ve no choice but to let you do whatever you like outside, but you’ll not be bothering my customers in here. Go take photos through the window like the rest of them.”

Her words had both men turning toward the bank of windows. True to Hannah’s words, half a dozen photographers and reporters were crowded around them outside. For an uncharitable moment, Harry half-wished the glass was still as grimy as it had been when Tom owned the bar. Instead, it was sparkling clean, just like everything else in the pub. Hannah and Seamus had purchased the place, with the help of a generous loan from Harry, several years back when the old barman had announced his desire to retire. The changes they’d made had been remarkable; the cheerful, airy restaurant they sat in now bore practically no resemblance to the dark, dreary place in Harry’s memories.

Hannah slid a plate of shepherd’s pie in front of Harry, grabbing his attention again. He looked up questioningly at her, but she merely smiled and winked, putting down a similar platter in front of Draco before whisking their menus away.

“You’ve been looking at the menu for more than twenty minutes,” she said, her friendly voice holding a bit of mock reproach. “You both always order this when it’s the special, so I thought I’d take at least some of tonight’s anxiety away.”

Harry laughed, rising to press a kiss against her cheek. She and Seamus had greeted both of them warmly when they’d come in tonight, ushering them to a table toward the back of the pub and even joining them for a pint while they’d caught up. Harry had been relieved to find no judgment in either of his longtime friends’ eyes, only happiness that he’d finally called it quits with Ginny and found someone else.

“Thank you, Hannah,” Draco said, mirroring Harry’s motions. He came here often, since he hated cooking. Hannah always had a kind word for him and a plate of something delicious ready for him to take home.

***

Harry stumbled out of the Floo into Draco’s waiting arms, yet again cursing his inability to stay upright during any sort of magical transportation aside from Apparating. Hermione suspected he had some sort of inner ear imbalance that made it so hard for him to keep his footing, probably from all the untreated ear infections he’d had as a child. She’d even offered to examine him, but he wasn’t keen on spending any more time in St. Mungo’s than he needed to; he’d had quite enough of hospital beds during his tenure at Hogwarts. 

Draco chuckled, his lips covering Harry’s to stop the muttered complaints. The dark-haired man relaxed into the kiss, groaning softly when the hands that had been steadying his shoulders moved south, tickling against his back and stopping as they cupped his arse.

“We were interrupted this morning,” Draco murmured against Harry’s lips, a thrill going through him at the way Harry shivered at his words. “If you still want to try –”

“I do,” Harry said quickly, interrupting him. 

Draco’s lips curved into a full-blown grin as a bubble of laughter escaped at Harry’s eagerness. He’d been sure today’s stressful confrontation with Ginny and embarrassing special section in the  _ Prophet _ would have Harry putting on the brakes, but he was delighted to find that wasn’t the case.

“Eager,” Draco purred, squeezing Harry’s bum through the denims he was wearing.

“Yes,” Harry said earnestly, capturing Draco’s mouth in another kiss. He pushed Draco back against the wall, his hands coming up to unbutton Draco’s shirt as he kicked off his own shoes.

“Bedroom,” Draco muttered, fighting Harry’s hands so he could unfasten his shirt himself. “Trust me, the bed will be more comfortable for what we’re about to do.”

Harry blushed, and Draco’s heart raced at the way the flush of color looked on his tanned cheeks. He nudged Harry with his hip, herding him toward the open bedroom door. He hadn’t been kidding that they’d be more comfortable there; he had no intention of rushing things. Harry might not technically be a virgin, but Draco figured he may as well be, for all the experience he seemed to have.

“We won’t do anything you’re not ready for,” he said, gently kissing Harry on the mouth before grabbing his hand and leading him toward the bedroom. “I promise.”

Harry nodded, his sudden anxiety at war with his arousal. He wanted to make love to Draco more than anything in the world, but he was also terrified of doing something wrong. He’d only ever had sex with Ginny, and though he’d  _ thought _ it had been good, it couldn’t hold a candle to anything he’d done with Draco. What if sex with Draco turned out to be a disappointment, too?

“Stop thinking,” Draco chastised, making Harry flush even darker. He tensed as Draco undressed him, his arousal growing as the blond pressed soft kisses over the flesh as he exposed it, trailing down Harry’s torso until only his trousers remained.

“No thinking,” Harry said hoarsely, offering Draco a small smile. He shivered when Draco’s fingers ghosted along his abdomen, dipping below the waistband of his trousers. He offered no resistance when Draco unfastened them and slid them over his arse, letting the rough fabric pool at his feet. 

Tanned hands fisted in blond hair when Draco dropped to his knees in front of Harry, his breath hot against the thin material of the boxers the dark-haired man still wore. He traced the outline of Harry’s hard cock with his tongue, his eyes watching Harry as he moved. When he was certain the other man was relaxing, he eased the boxers down as well, nuzzling against Harry’s cock as he worked the cloth over his bare feet so Harry could step out of them.

Harry gasped when Draco’s tongue swirled over the head of his cock before finding the sensitive ridge just underneath. He canted his hips forward, giving Draco better access as he laved his tongue over the rigid flesh, pulling back when he felt Harry begin to pump in and out of his mouth.

Harry opened his eyes, watching as Draco finished undressing himself and climbed onto the bed. He spread his legs, his eyes locked on Harry as he Summoned a bottle of lube from the bedside table and coated his fingers, trailing them over his aching cock and down between his cheeks. Harry made a breathy sound as Draco bent his knees, exposing his entrance to Harry’s rapt gaze. When he started teasing at his puckered hole with his slippery fingers, Harry felt his knees go weak. He’d spent a lot of time over the past week thinking about this, and his imaginings had always been tempered with disgust, since it seemed so unnatural. But standing there watching Draco ease a slender finger inside himself, his hips coming up off the bed as he added another, the expression on his face one of obvious pleasure – nothing about that seemed unnatural. 

Harry climbed onto the bed, careful not to jostle Draco as the other man continued to prepare himself. He knew  _ he _ should be the one doing this to Draco, but he definitely didn’t feel brave enough for that. This time, at least. He smiled, his gaze traveling up Draco’s fit body until it rested on his face, studying the half-closed eyes and the lips swollen from Harry’s kisses. He knelt beside him, ducking his head to circle his warm tongue around Draco’s nipple. The blond groaned, crying out when Harry moved across his chest to give the other nipple the same treatment. 

He continued to lick and nip at Draco’s chest and neck until the other man was panting, his body covered in a fine sheen of sweat. Draco startled him when he grabbed Harry’s hand, guiding it down to his neglected erection and wrapping his fingers around it. Draco groaned when Harry gave the hard flesh a tentative pump, raising his hips off the bed to force more contact.

“Are you ready?” he asked as he looked at Harry, the desire swirling in the grey depths making Harry’s pulse jump.

“I – yes.”

Draco smiled, sitting up and kissing Harry softly. He grabbed the bottle of lube, pouring a generous amount over his hand and coating Harry’s cock with it. The dark-haired man made a strangled noise at the sensation, biting his lip to hold back a groan. He wanted this to be memorable, but at this rate he’d barely make it inside Draco before he came. Merlin.  _ Inside _ Draco. Harry clenched his teeth, forcing himself to calm down.

“I think it would be easiest this way,” Draco said, turning around and supporting himself on his hands and knees. 

Harry ran a hand over his arse, stroking the soft skin. When Draco made an approving sound and leaned into the touch, he grew bolder, parting his cheeks and rubbing the head of his cock against his entrance. Draco groaned, pressing back against Harry, encouraging him to push his way inside. 

His heart racing, Harry complied, unable to hold back a hiss of pleasure at how tightly Draco’s channel squeezed his cock. He went slowly at first, unsure how far he’d be able to thrust in and worried about hurting Draco, but when the blond reared back, impaling himself and forcing Harry deeper, he stopped worrying and focused on fully seating himself. He stopped when his pelvis hit Draco’s arse, both of them panting from arousal and exertion.

“God, Draco,” Harry groaned, afraid he’d come on the spot if he moved at all. He’d never felt anything like this – Draco was so tight it was almost painful. He eased back a bit, thrusting his hips forward gently, still afraid he might be hurting the other man. He didn’t see how it was possible that he  _ wasn’t. _

“I won’t break,” Draco panted, pushing back against Harry again. He held his breath as Harry thrust forward harder, finally relaxing a few strokes later when he’d started to adjust to Harry’s length. 

Harry was oblivious to any discomfort on Draco’s part by that point, his hands tightly gripping Draco’s hips as his strokes picked up pace. Draco rested his head on the pillows at the head of the bed as Harry slammed into him, tiny sparks of pleasure shooting through him every time the dark-haired man managed to glide over his prostate. He heard Harry cry out behind him, his fingers tightening painfully on his hips as he came, murmuring Draco’s name again and again.

Draco let his tired arms fold, his trembling muscles burning from holding himself up, as soon as Harry stopped shuddering behind him. He winced as the other man pulled out, rolling to his side as Harry collapsed beside him, peppering Draco’s face with kisses as he laughed giddily.

“That was –” Harry laughed again, at a loss for words. His breathy laughter ended quickly, though, when he felt Draco’s erection against his leg. “Oh God, I didn’t, you didn’t –”

Draco cut him off with a kiss. It didn’t matter to him that he hadn’t come yet; there was plenty of time for them to get the rhythm of things down in future encounters. He was just relieved that Harry seemed to have enjoyed himself enough to  _ want _ to do it again.

He groaned when he felt Harry’s hand wrap around his length. He deepened the kiss as Harry began to stroke him, wrapping his arms around Harry’s neck to pull him closer. Despite the awkward angle, Harry continued to wank him, the strokes becoming harder and faster as Draco squirmed against him. It didn’t take much before Draco was crying out against his mouth, covering Harry’s already sweaty belly with come.

“Draco, I’m sorry –”

“Don’t be. We’ll work out the timing next time,” he said huskily, taking Harry’s hand and nipping at his fingers. “Besides, you should never apologize for bringing a bloke to a mind-blowing orgasm. Rule one of sex with men.”

Harry laughed, swatting at the blond, who rolled away to dodge the blow.

“And rule two?” 

Draco laughed, scooting back across the bed and pouncing on Harry, pinning him to the bed.

“Rule two,” Draco growled, nipping possessively at Harry’s earlobe. “ _ I’m _ the only one you’re allowed to bring to a mind-blowing orgasm.”


	13. Oct. 7

**Oct. 7**

“– judge threatened to hold me in contempt,” Draco finished with a smirk, and the table erupted in laughter.

Harry rolled his eyes at Draco’s story. He knew how wrecked the blond had been after being chastised by the judge, and he figured Ron, Pansy and Susan did, too. But they were laughing along with everyone else, toasting Draco with their wine glasses, with Ron even going as far as complimenting him on the size of his bollocks.

Harry blushed slightly, since he was one of the only ones at the table had first-hand knowledge of exactly what size those bollocks were. He flicked an uneasy glance a few seats down at Blaise Zabini, but the darker wizard was focused on whispering something in his companion’s ear and not paying attention to the rest of the group at all. He’d been reluctant to include the Slytherin, knowing Draco had dated him briefly after Hogwarts and had had an on-again-off-again relationship with him whenever the two of them were having a dry spell, but the blond had been insistent that they were nothing more than good friends. His determination to convince Harry that he had no repressed desire to be with Blaise had taken most of a night, and Harry had barely been able to keep his eyes open at work the next day. He’d had to resort to a turtleneck to cover the marks on his neck, since he hadn’t trusted his magic enough to simply Glamour them on so little sleep.

Blaise looked up, sensing Harry’s gaze. He smiled at him, and instead of feeling jealous or threatened, Harry felt a sense of calm sweep through him. Blaise hadn’t made a move on Draco since they’d been back, and this was the third or fourth time they’d seen him. He’d had a different witch or wizard on his arm each visit, and he’d never once done anything to make Harry uncomfortable. Harry smiled back, earning himself an approving nod from Blaise. His past with Draco aside, Harry  _ did _ find that he liked the man. 

The motley assortment of guests crowded into Draco’s flat –  _ their _ flat, really, since he’d never left after spending that first night and had even moved his things in after emptying the flat he and Ginny had shared – wasn’t a group he’d ever thought he’d have dinner with, let alone enjoy the company of. But somehow their mishmash of friends worked. Everyone had set aside the petty House rivalries that had kept them on their toes in school, and grudges from the war were long lost as well. 

Pansy and Theo were at one end of the table, chatting with Hannah and Seamus. Neville had come with his girlfriend, a witch he’d met in the States while studying Herbology there. Luna and Dean were making the cutlery dance for Hugo, who was sitting nearby in Susan’s lap, happily playing with her necklace. Ron and Hermione were chatting with Terry Boot, who’d just come home from a yearlong stay in Japan studying ancient cauldrons. Blaise was half-listening to them, his attention divided between the conversation and his witch-of-the-minute, who seemed to be having a hard time keeping her hands to herself.

“Help me get dessert,” Draco whispered in Harry’s ear, startling the dark-haired man out of his reflections. Harry grinned at his own distraction, jumping up to clear the plates before following Draco into the kitchen.

He nearly dropped everything that was Levitating behind him when Draco pounced, pinning him against the wall just out of sight of the long table they’d set up in the sitting room. Harry melted into the kiss, flicking his wand at the plates and stacking them haphazardly on the counter beside them so he could focus his full attention on the man pressed against him.

“Guests,” he said in a strangled whisper, sending mixed signals by burying his fingers in Draco’s hair and tugging him closer for another kiss.

Draco kissed him back, not pulling away until they were both breathing heavily. The dinner was still going in full-swing, and Harry could hear laughter and wisps of the half-dozen conversations carrying through into the kitchen.

“The guests aren’t our biggest problem,” Draco said with a grin, pressing another quick kiss against Harry’s lips. 

“Oh?” Harry quirked an eyebrow at him, and Draco laughed at seeing one of his own trademark expressions reflected back at him. They’d both adopted each other’s mannerisms in the last two months, which generated much teasing from their friends.

“We don’t actually  _ have _ dessert. I just wanted you to myself for a moment,” Draco admitted, and the two of them stared at each other for a long moment before collapsing in laughter.

***

Draco yelped when a pair of arms wrapped around him from behind, startling him. He hadn’t been expecting Harry home from the Ministry so soon.

“Miss me?” Harry asked, pulling Draco’s wet, naked body close and kissing his neck.

“Always,” Draco answered, stepping forward and tugging Harry under the hot spray. The shower wasn’t really big enough for two, but that made it even more fun to share. 

“Wrapped up a case early,” Harry murmured, grabbing Draco’s shampoo and squirting a dollop into his hands. He worked it into a foamy lather and then started massaging the blond’s scalp. Draco hummed in approval, leaning back slightly to give Harry easier access. 

“Pansy and Theo are Flooing over later. They’re going over with us,” Draco said, ducking his head under the water to rinse the suds away. He laughed when Harry grabbed the bottle of conditioner; the dark-haired man hadn’t even known such a thing existed until they’d started showering together a few months ago. 

“We just saw them last night,” Harry complained, wetting his own hair so Draco could wash it.

Draco worked the shampoo into his dark locks without replying, his strong fingers massaging their way down Harry’s neck to loosen the tense muscles there. Despite his petulant tone, Draco could sense Harry’s relief that they weren’t going to the Manor alone tonight. He’d had several meetings with his parents over the last month, and tonight they’d requested Harry’s presence, too. Draco hadn’t thought Harry was ready for a full-scale Malfoy formal dinner yet, so he’d agreed to bring him by for drinks instead. 

“Tell me honestly, how terrible is it going to be?” Harry asked suddenly, blinking soap out of his eyes as he turned to look at Draco.

The blond laughed, pushing Harry under the spray to rinse him off.

“They’ve been surprisingly civil.”

“Even with all the stories?” The  _ Prophet _ might have been the first to report their relationship, but it certainly hadn’t been the last. Every day new pieces about the two of them cropped up somewhere, and there were no shortage of photos to accompany them. Photographers hounded them everywhere they went, even going so far as to try to follow Draco into closed hearings while he was working. Harry was on desk duty for the moment, since an Auror who was constantly dogged by reporters and photographers everywhere he went could hardly work effectively.

Draco kissed him, heedless of the water that now cascaded over both of them. Harry sighed, leaning into the contact. He groaned when soap-slicked hands glided firmly up his back, rubbing circles against his skin. Of all the ways Draco had broadened his horizons in the past few weeks, shower sex had to be his favorite. They’d even taken to keeping a bottle of lube in the shower for just such occasions, since Draco had found he didn’t like using soap or conditioner for the delicate task.

“They love the stories,” Draco murmured against Harry’s lips, making the other man laugh. Of course they would, Harry realized. The press had been ecstatic to see the Boy Who Lived surface with one of the most famous post-war advocates for equality. Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy, dream couple. Harry never would have believed it possible, but even Skeeter was writing glowing stories about how well-suited they were. The Malfoys couldn’t have missed that. What better way to dispel the lingering tarnish on the Malfoy name than to publicly support their son’s relationship with Harry Potter?

“Ahh,” Harry groaned, flexing his back muscles when Draco hit a tender spot. He didn’t think he’d ever get enough of this closeness. He still woke up several times a night and reached out to touch Draco, afraid it had all been a dream. His nightmares had all but stopped since they’d started sleeping in the same bed, and he was almost giddy with the unfamiliar sensations of being well-rested and well-shagged. 

“Did you see today’s paper?” Draco asked, stepping back to soap Harry’s front as well. He ignored the growing erection, delving his hands between Harry’s and soaping his balls instead.

“No,” Harry answered, concentrating on the feeling of Draco teasing him instead of the conversation.

“Weasley’s announced she’s engaged to that Italian wizard. He drives Muggle race cars, can you believe that?” Draco asked, and Harry wasn’t sure if he was incredulous because Ginny had found someone willing to marry her or because the man had a dangerous Muggle occupation. 

“I heard that from Ron yesterday,” Harry said, hissing when Draco’s slick hand finally closed over his now mostly hard cock. 

“And you didn’t tell me because?”

Harry shrugged, pressing his soapy body against Draco’s and squirming. He knew Draco loved the feel of their chests and cocks sliding together, and the soap just made it that much better.

“Because it wasn’t important,” he answered without a hint of guile. He was happy Ginny was moving on. The newspapers had absolutely had a field day with her after Harry and Draco had gone public. A few well-timed interviews about how the two of them hadn’t been together before Harry and Ginny’s cancelled wedding had quickly stopped the tearful rejected lover act Ginny had been playing, and she’d mercifully disappeared from the public eye until now.

“News about that stupid bint  _ is _ important,” Draco said, pumping his closed fist up and down Harry’s cock, his hand wedged in between their bodies.

“Yes,” Harry agreed, bracing his arm against the tile wall when he felt his knees start to go weak.

Draco twisted his wrist, his fingers sliding over the soft head of Harry’s cock, making the other man gasp.

“And you  _ will _ tell me next time, yes?”

Harry whimpered when Draco withdrew his hand just as his climax was starting to build. He clenched his teeth, opening his eyes.

“Yes,” he groaned, expecting Draco to finish him off. He groaned when he realized Draco was uncapping the bottle of lube.

Draco smirked, already relaxed enough from the hot shower that it didn’t take long to prepare himself. He spread his legs, leaning his arms against the shower wall, gasping when Harry molded himself to him, his cock slipping between his arse cheeks and rubbing against his entrance.

He growled when Harry rubbed the head of his erection against his hole with just enough pressure to tease but not enough to breech him. Harry’s confidence level when it came to sex had skyrocketed in the last month, something Draco usually enjoyed –but tonight he just wanted to be fucked fast and hard. 

He pushed back against Harry, his cock jumping when he heard the low sound of Harry’s chuckle. His body never failed to react to his husky laugh, and hearing it now made him more desperate to have Harry inside him. He pushed back again, groaning in satisfaction when Harry didn’t move away this time. He slipped into Draco slowly, savoring the way his body seemed to pull him into the tight, wet heat. 

Draco gritted his teeth, fighting to keep his balance as Harry drove into him. His feet were slipping against the bottom of the shower with every stroke, his fingers digging into the cool tile to try to gain some traction.

Harry grabbed his hips, hauling him up a bit more and holding on to him as he continued to thrust. It was far from a comfortable position, but he loved the illicitness of it; he’d never imagined sex could be like this. With Draco, it seemed to be this good every day, though Harry still didn’t know how that was possible.

“No secrets,” Draco ground out, panting with exertion.

“No secrets,” Harry agreed, one hand curving around Draco’s waist to wrap around his neglected cock, pumping him furiously as he buried himself deep inside Draco, his muscles tensing as he came.

Draco leaned heavily against the wall, coming hard as he heard Harry gasp his name. Harry sagged against him as the last waves of their orgasms rolled over them, their harsh breathing audible even over the sound of the water. Harry groaned after a few seconds, belatedly realizing that the water had gone cool. He pulled out of Draco, pressing a quick kiss against his back before ducking under the tepid spray to rinse off a final time. They’d have to hurry now to get to Malfoy Manor on time, but he had no regrets. It had been time well spent, in his opinion.

***

Harry excused himself, stopping a passing house-elf to have it show him to the toilet. They’d been at the Manor for two hours and he’d been drinking rather steadily, since it seemed easier to busy his mouth with swallowing than to try to join in the stilted conversations. Pansy and Theo were there, which helped, but so were their parents. It was an uncomfortable mix of people, since Harry didn’t know the Parkinsons or the Notts. 

He couldn’t help but grin at the ornate marble sink and its gold fixtures, which were shaped like snakes. He stroked the faucet after he washed his hands, marveling at the craftsmanship of the tiny scales that were carved into the gold. In a moment of drunken fancy, he hissed at it, half-expecting it to speak back. He frowned when he caught himself, shaking his head at his silliness.

His mind was still on the snake-adorned faucet as he made his way back down the corridor to rejoin the party. The sound of voices in a darkened room caught his attention, especially when he realized one of them was Draco.

“– about money, Mother.”

Narcissa said something inaudible, and Harry found himself leaning closer to the doorframe, straining to hear more of the quiet conversation that had taken them away from the party at large. Draco was silent for awhile, likely listening to whatever Narcissa had to say, and Harry nearly moved on, stopping again when Draco responded.

“– not serious –” 

Draco’s voice was too soft for him to hear everything, but Harry felt a cold finger of fear creep up his spine.

“– only for awhile longer –”

Harry’s heart clenched, and he held his breath, hoping to hear more. He couldn’t quite make out Narcissa’s response, but he could hear well enough to discern that she was upset about something, something that apparently wasn’t happening fast enough.

“Of course it’s not a permanent thing!” 

Draco’s voice was rising with annoyance, and Harry flinched, taking a step back from the door. He suddenly felt stone-cold sober, and his mind was racing, along with his heart. Deciding he’d heard enough, he made his way back down the corridor, pausing outside the doors to the drawing room for a moment to compose himself before rejoining the party. 

He swallowed hard, remembering their earlier promise not to keep secrets. He straightened his shoulders, striding into the drawing room with a forced smile, mentally resolving to talk to Draco about what he’d heard tomorrow and hoping against hope he’d misunderstood.


	14. Oct. 8

**Oct. 8**

Harry sipped at his bitter coffee, grimacing at the taste but drinking it anyway since he needed the caffeine. He glanced at the clock, holding back a sigh when he saw it was almost midnight. He’d been on this stakeout for more than sixteen hours, and they’d yet to see any incriminating activity in the warehouse.

He’d fallen straight into bed last night, distraught over what he’d heard and still more than a little drunk from the drinks Lucius had kept flowing. Draco and Narcissa had come back to the party shortly after he had, acting completely normal. Harry had been tempted to confront him then and there, but he knew public scenes weren’t something the Malfoys would forgive easily. If he was wrong – and he still hoped he was – he didn’t want their first real impression of him to be one where he interrupted one of their parties to make insecure allegations against Draco.

Harry’s plans to talk to Draco over breakfast had been derailed by an emergency Firecall he’d gotten from the Ministry shortly after 5 a.m. A case they’d been following for months finally had its first real lead, and since he was relatively useless in the actual field lately thanks to his renewed fame, he’d been the best candidate to stakeout the place their informant had said would be the site of today’s illegal deal. Harry blew out a breath, resting his Styrofoam coffee cup on the dashboard of the car the Ministry had appropriated to serve as his cover. Disillusionment Charms were easy for a skilled witch or wizard to detect, so they’d gone with the old standby of hiding out in the open. Today that meant wearing Muggle clothes and spending hour after hour in a dingy car with a copy of the  _ Prophet _ and endless cups of bad coffee.

He checked his watch impatiently, noting it was now well after midnight. Draco would no doubt be in bed, since he had an important case going before the Wizengamot the next day. He sighed, wondering if he should send a Patronus to the office to see if anyone there had turned up anything new. It  _ would _ be a rather large coup if they managed to catch the suspects in the act of dealing in banned magical artifacts, but that seemed highly unlikely now, after hours of constant surveillance. 

Harry was just about to pack it in for the night when a flash of color caught his eye. He crouched down in his seat, his wand in his hand as he scanned the empty parking lot. The spot of color returned, and he squinted at it, able to make out the wavy edges of a person’s outline when he concentrated.  _ This _ was why Aurors never used Disillusionment spells when it counted; they were easy to counteract if you knew the right wards to set. 

Harry rested his hand on the door handle, ready to spring. Three more bright points of color appeared, signaling three more suspects Apparating in under the charm. Knowing he might not have much time, Harry sent a quick Patronus to the Ministry for back-up and barreled out of the car, casting an Anti-Apparation net around the Disillusioned suspects as he ran across the broken pavement. He was so focused on getting to them before they had a chance to work around the ward that he never noticed the man who Apparated in behind him, downing him with a well-placed Stunner.

***

Draco was seething as he stalked down the corridor at the Ministry, headed up to the Office of Magical Law Enforcement. Harry had never made it home last night, and he was furious that the man hadn’t had the courtesy to owl or Firecall that he’d been caught up. Harry hadn’t been able to share the reason he’d taken off like a bat out of hell before sunrise the day before, but he’d told Draco it had been a major development on a case. He’d gotten an owl from him around dinnertime, telling him not to expect him home for awhile. But still – to stay out all night without word?

Draco had kept his composure all morning, making it through his client’s appeal to the Wizengamot without problem. The court was on recess now, and he’d decided to take advantage of the break to go find Harry. He only had twenty minutes, but he didn’t figure he’d need even half that much time to tear the inconsiderate sod a new arsehole and make it back down to the courtroom.

***

Harry blinked his eyes open, instantly regretting the move. The light in the room was far too bright, and he groaned, struggling to throw a hand over his face to block it out. His arm felt like it was made of solid lead, though, and he groaned again at the effort of trying to move his limbs, a growing sense of panic blooming in his chest.

“Shh,” a soft voice crooned in his ear. Almost instantly the room darkened, and he audibly sighed in relief. The pain in his head lowered to a bearable ache instead of a throb, and he tried opening his eyes again. 

“Ginny?”

She stroked his face, careful to avoid the cuts the Healers hadn’t wanted to risk fixing before he woke. His glasses had broken when he’d fallen, and one of the deep cuts had come dangerously close to his eye. The Healers had asked her permission to start him on the spell and potion regimen to fix his eyesight to avoid it happening again, and she’d given it. 

“You’re in St. Mungo’s,” she said softly, taking a seat on his bed. This wasn’t the first time she’d rushed to the hospital after a middle-of-the-night Firecall because a mission had gone wrong. She knew the drill; he usually woke disoriented and achy, unable to tolerate bright light and loud noises.

“Stunner?” he asked, his throat scratchy.

She smiled at him, fetching a glass of ice water from the bedside table. She held the straw to his lips, and he drank without complaint.

“Yes. A few other spells as well, but they’ve managed to patch you up, just like always,” she said, her voice full of chastisement. 

Harry’s magical core reacted more violently than most other wizards’ to Stunning Spells. This time it had only knocked him out for about twelve hours, but more powerful ones could keep him unconscious for days. 

He struggled to sit up as his memory of the night before came crashing back, groaning when he put pressure on his broken arm.

“Be still,” she scolded, pressing her hand gently against his chest to restrain him. “Martinson was here earlier. He told me the bust was a success. Your back-up got there just in time to see one of the suspects take you down.”

He had the grace to look chagrined as she sent him a stern look. She helped him settle back against the pillows before ducking out into the corridor to summon a Healer to look at him now that he’d woken. It was standard procedure, and one she was well familiar with. Harry was struck with a sudden swell of gratitude that she was there, and he felt his eyes prick with tears.

“That’ll be the potion,” she said with a grin when she saw him furiously blinking away the moisture. “Pain Potions always have made you a bit overly emotional.”

He laughed. Potion side-effects or no, it felt good to have her there. 

“Draco?”

She smiled again, picking up his hand and holding it between both of hers. The potions also always made him cold, and he relaxed at the warm touch.

“I got word to Ron this morning, and he’s been trying to track him down. He said something about Draco having a case this morning that needed to be heard.”

Harry nodded, but he couldn’t help but feel a bit hurt that Draco hadn’t dropped everything and come to his side the moment he’d realized Harry had been hurt. Part of him knew Draco was too practical for that, and that he’d come as soon as he possibly could, but a bigger part of him wondered if his absence had anything to do with the conversation he’d overheard at Malfoy Manor.

“And you?” Harry asked, squeezing Ginny’s hand. They’d hardly spoken in the last month aside from the occasional owl sorting out bills for the flat or who got to keep some knickknack or another.

“You hadn’t updated your emergency contact,” she said, her cheeks pinking a bit. “I came as soon as they Firecalled, but you were in such bad shape that I couldn’t just leave. And I didn’t think Malfoy would welcome a Firecall from me, so I had Ron do it.”

Harry smiled, stroking the back of her hand with his thumb. The skin was silky smooth and softer than Draco’s.

“I hear congratulations are in order,” he said with forced ease, feeling like he should address their current situation somehow but not wanting to offend her. It had been wonderful not to have to wake up alone, and he was beyond grateful she’d stayed.

“Bengino proposed a few days ago. Surprised me, too,” she said, her blush darkening. 

“I’m glad you’re happy,” Harry said, surprising himself by truly meaning the words. He  _ had _ loved Ginny, no matter what she thought. He wasn’t in love with her anymore, but he still wanted to see her happy.

“I am,” she said simply, her fingers tightening around his. “I really am. And I’m so sorry, Harry. I’m so sorry for everything I put you through. I was horrible. I’ve  _ been _ horrible for years.”

He felt a pang at receiving a heartfelt apology he’d never expected to hear. 

“It’s alright –”

Her lips curved into a small smile as she shook her head, her long red hair cascading around her shoulders, accentuating her pale skin and finely sculpted features. He fought the urge to stroke her cheek as she had done for him earlier, knowing it would be inappropriate. 

“It’s not. I said awful things to you, I cheated on you. Merlin, I’m embarrassed to even think about the way I reacted when you told me you were attracted to Malfoy.”

Harry shrugged, wincing when the movement aggravated his arm. The pain spiraled up to his collarbone, and he looked down, wondering if he’d broken that as well.

“Arm, collarbone and cheekbone,” she said, following his gaze. 

He blinked again, realizing for the first time that he didn’t have his glasses on. She grinned at his questioning look.

“Your glasses nearly cost you your eyesight when they broke. The Stunner hit you as you were running, and you couldn’t even put your arms out to break your fall. The Healers suggested fixing your eyesight, and I agreed.”

He nodded, his emerald gaze sweeping around the room, marveling at his new ability to see things that weren’t right in front of his face.

“There are a few more potions you’ll have to take, but the hard part is done. Luckily you were unconscious for it; the Healers said it could be painful otherwise. That’s part of the reason I had them go ahead and do it,” she said, looking a bit unsure. She knew she’d overstepped her bounds, taking advantage of the fact that Harry had been too preoccupied lately to update the paperwork that gave her the right to make that type of decision for him. She and Ron had fought about it that morning. “Your eyesight should become clearer with each dose.”

Harry leaned forward gingerly, careful not to tweak his injuries as he wrapped his other arm around her, enveloping her in a warm but tentative hug. He had so few people in his life to begin with, and he’d hated the thought that he’d lost one. But the Ginny he was talking to right now – the one who’d rushed to the hospital in the middle of the night when he’d been injured and had cared enough to make sure his boyfriend had been informed, as well as stayed to take care of him –  _ this _ was the old Ginny he’d fallen in love with years ago. He gave her a light squeeze, burying his face in her hair and breathing in the familiar scent. Though he felt no twinge of desire for her, it was comforting to do something so familiar when the rest of his world seemed to be turning upside down.

Draco skidded to a stop in the open doorway, his jaw falling open at the sight of Harry and Ginny wrapped around each other. He swallowed the feelings of hurt and betrayal that forced their way to the forefront of his mind; he’d known she was there. Ron had warned him, and he’d told him that she’d seemed fairly earnest in her desire to renew her friendship with Harry. Everything in him screamed it was a bad idea, but he didn’t want to alienate Harry by trying something asinine like forbidding it; the two of them had far more history than he and Draco did, and the blond half-worried he might be on the losing end of such an ultimatum.

Instead, he gritted his teeth and knocked on the doorframe, giving them a bit of warning as he walked into the room. His fears were mostly assuaged by the way Harry’s face lit up when he saw him, but he still couldn’t help but wonder if Ginny’s newfound gentle side was part of some plot to win Harry back. If it was, it looked like it was working, he reflected, noticing that Harry hadn’t let go of her hand when he released her from the hug.

“Thank Merlin you’re alright,” Draco breathed, standing at the foot of the bed and visually inspecting Harry’s injuries. Ron had assured him Harry was on the mend, but he hadn’t believed him until just now. He was quite sure the image of cool and coiffed Draco Malfoy running full tilt through the Ministry to get to the Floo was one that not many who had seen it would forget anytime soon. 

He’d been absolutely furious when the MLE desk clerk had refused to give him any information about Harry, saying he wasn’t the emergency contact listed in Harry’s paperwork. His heart had plummeted to his shoes when the witch had used that term, his anger at Harry not coming home the night before instantly morphing into gut wrenching worry. Luckily Ron had burst into the office at that moment, saving the witch from a tongue-lashing she’d probably never have quite recovered from. Apparently he’d tried to catch Draco before he’d disappeared into the closed hearing earlier that morning but had missed him, and he’d been dashing back from his own meetings to check on the hearing all morning, hoping to catch Draco out of court on a recess.

“He’ll recover fully,” a curt voice said from the doorway. The Healer strode in, shooing Ginny and Draco away from the bed as he cast several diagnostic charms. Satisfied with the results, he concentrated on healing the cuts on Harry’s face before checking the way his bones were setting. 

Harry grimaced when a familiar vial appeared on the bedside table as the Healer swept back out of the room. Ginny moved to his side and uncapped it unconsciously, so used to helping him in situations like this one that it didn’t occur to her  _ not _ to step in. Harry tilted his head back, wrinkling his nose as he swallowed the Skele-Gro. Ginny laughed, massaging his throat lightly to help ease the burn of the potion going down.

“Never get used to that one,” Harry croaked, gulping the water she held up for him.

“I’ve heard it’s rather vile,” Draco said from the corner, trying to keep the stiffness out of his voice. As much as he hated the fact that  _ she _ was the one taking care of Harry, he couldn’t begrudge the man any sort of comfort he could get. He felt a twinge as he realized she’d acted out of sheer instinct, probably from being in this position dozens of times over the years they’d been together. He couldn’t compete with that; though they had a long shared history, he and Harry had really only been together a little more than a month.

“Oh,” Ginny said, coloring when she realized what she’d done. She took a step back from Harry’s bed, holding the cup out for Draco. 

“No, it’s alright,” Draco said with forced politeness, moving forward to take the cup despite his words. He settled into her old spot on Harry’s bed, offering him more to drink. “I imagine you got rather used to it. He does seem to end up here more often than most, doesn’t he?”

Ginny laughed despite herself.

“You’ll get used to it, too,” she said, winking at Harry. “I should go. Benny’s been in the waiting room for the last hour. I was only staying until someone else got here to sit with him.”

Draco nodded stiffly at her, holding his tongue when Harry held his hand out to her, inviting her in for a kiss on the cheek before she left. He put the cup back on the table, settling in to find out more about what had happened to Harry. It hardly mattered who had been there first, so long as he was the one who was there last, right? He studied Harry carefully as the other man talked, the question swirling around ceaselessly in his head.


	15. Oct. 10

**Oct. 10**

Draco sighed as he looked around the sparkling clean flat. He had to admit it looked good, even if he’d hated allowing Molly Weasley to do it. She’d been insistent that Harry had to come home to a clean flat, and since he didn’t have the time – or inclination – to do it himself he’d seen no choice other than to give her the Floo password and let her go wild. 

He lifted the lid on a pot that was bubbling on the stove, closing his eyes as he inhaled the fragrant steam from the sauce. Her note said she’d left spaghetti sauce on the stove and stocked the Muggle cold box with meals for the rest of the week, since Harry “needed to be well-fed” while he was recovering. The difference between Molly Weasley’s style of mothering and Narcissa Malfoy’s was stark; the Malfoy matriarch had simply sent flowers to St. Mungo’s, and Draco was sure she hadn’t even picked out the arrangement herself – it had been the standard bouquet the family’s florist sent to all acquaintances who found themselves injured or ill.

He replaced the lid, checking his watch as he hurried toward the Floo. He’d just stopped home after work to get Harry a change of clothes; the Healers were releasing him tonight. He fully expected the entire Weasley clan – Ginny included – to descend on them the next day, but at least he’d have him to himself for a few hours before then.

***

Harry shifted sleepily, acutely feeling the emptiness of the space beside him. Not only had Draco failed to respond to his advances earlier that evening, he’d opted to sleep on the sofa instead of their bed. He’d said it was because Harry needed his rest as he recovered from his injuries, but Harry wasn’t convinced. After all, he’d just spent the better part of three days laying in a bed at St. Mungo’s – if anything, he need  _ less _ rest, not more.

The Muggle alarm clock on the nightstand (“more reliable than Alarm Spells,” Draco had said when Harry had expressed his surprise at seeing the contraption the first time he’d slept at Draco’s flat) showed it was an ungodly hour of the early morning, and Harry groaned, rolling over gingerly. His healing collarbone was still tender, but his arm had already fully recovered. It was still strange not to need his glasses, but he was quickly getting used to it. He thought he looked strange without him, but everyone had assured him otherwise. Ginny and Draco had seemed especially appreciative, he remembered with a smile.

He eased himself up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed. This was ridiculous. He’d just spent three nights away from Draco, and he wasn’t going to waste another one knowing Draco was sleeping in the other room. It felt a bit like their time on the island, which sent a shiver of arousal up Harry’s spine. Grinning with newfound purpose, he crept toward the sitting room. Draco had Transfigured the sofa into something larger, but he still didn’t look comfortable. His arms and legs were all tangled in the blankets, and he turned restlessly as Harry watched from the doorway.

A wave of insecurity swept over Harry as he watched the other man sleep. What if this insistence on sleeping alone had more to do with the conversation Harry had overhead a few days ago at the Manor and less to do with his injuries? They’d never gotten the chance to talk about what Harry had heard, since they’d never been alone in the hospital room. He supposed he should have brought it up over dinner tonight, but Draco seemed preoccupied with something, and Harry hadn’t wanted to ruin the first alone-time they’d had in days.

He bit his lip, wondering if he should slide between the blankets beside Draco or not. Part of him wanted to fulfill the half-formed fantasy he’d had on the island of jumping Draco in the middle of the night, but he wasn’t sure if his advances would be welcome or not. He wasn’t sure his ego could take another rejection tonight. Harry sighed, stripping the tangled blanket off the make-shift bed and straightening it before spooning up behind Draco. They could talk about it in the morning.

***

Harry woke to a warm, wet heat engulfing his cock, and it took him a few moments to realize he wasn’t dreaming. He groaned, his collarbone protesting as he tried to raise himself up to look down at Draco. Sleepy grey eyes looked up at him, and Draco winked. The sultry sight made Harry’s breath hitch; he’d never fully appreciated how sexy Draco looked with his lips wrapped around his cock before, since Draco had always insisted he ditch his glasses before sex.

Days of frustration and worry seemed to melt away as Harry looked at Draco’s face, flushed with arousal and framed by hair still messy from sleep. He looked completely uninhibited and completely focused on Harry. The dark-haired man groaned as a soft tongue swiped across the head of his cock, his head hanging back and grazing the pillow as Draco followed the move with a hard suck and all of Harry’s conscious thought abruptly ended.

“So good,” he murmured, squirming as Draco’s long fingers wrapped around his hips, pinning him in place.

Draco pulled away, slithering up his body and claiming his mouth in a lazy kiss. He was careful to keep his weight off Harry’s torso, supporting himself on his arms as he deepened the kiss, his tongue sweeping into Harry’s mouth. Harry groaned when he tasted himself on Draco’s tongue, his uninjured arm coming up to caress Draco’s back and down to cup his arse. He growled softly when he realized the blond was naked, his fingers digging into the firm flesh and trying to pull him down.

Draco laughed against his mouth, the rumbling sound sending shivers of arousal down Harry’s spine. He arched up, his erection brushing Draco’s and making both of them groan. Draco sat up, rolling his eyes at Harry’s impatience. He pressed gentle kisses against the bruised flesh of his chest, working his way down over taut muscle until he reached his navel. Harry whimpered when Draco’s tongue skirted the dip, flicking teasingly at the skin before licking his way down over his hip.

“Draco, please,” Harry groaned, his entire body jolting as the slightly stubbled skin of Draco’s cheek brushed against his aching cock. 

Draco grinned, wrapping his fingers around the base of Harry’s erection, holding it steady as he licked his lips tantalizingly before lowering them with almost painful slowness over the hard shaft. Harry cried out, his hands fisting at his sides to keep from giving in to the temptation to grab Draco’s head and hold him still as he fucked his mouth. His patience was rewarded as Draco’s cheeks hollowed, the delicious tightness and suction making Harry groan again. It only took a few strokes before he was coming down Draco’s throat, panting harshly as he moaned his name through clenched teeth.

Draco wiped his mouth indelicately as he pulled away, rolling to his side, his sweaty skin brushing against Harry’s. He brushed Harry’s hand aside as the dark-haired man moved to reciprocate, worried he’d aggravate his injuries.

“The Healers said no strenuous activity,” Draco reminded him, sending Harry a quelling look when the other man would have protested.

Harry fell back against the pillows, the glow from his orgasm quickly dissipating. Was Draco simply concerned about his injuries, or did he not want him to touch him? He bit back his questions as he watched Draco bring himself off quickly before reaching for his wand and casting a Cleaning Spell on both of them.

Harry sighed, gathering up the courage to tell Draco what he’d overheard. By the time he’d focused his thoughts, though, the blond was fast asleep at his side. Harry huffed in frustration, staring at the ceiling as he listened to the Draco’s even breathing. After a moment or two of brooding his lips quirked into a smile and he laughed softly, the tension that had built up in him ebbing. It wasn’t like Draco had purposefully fallen asleep to avoid the conversation, he reasoned. He sighed again, less forcefully this time, and spooned against him, falling back into a fitful sleep.

***

Draco was already gone when Harry woke in the morning, which didn’t surprise him. He  _ was _ surprised, though, when the Floo roared to life an hour later and Ginny stepped into the flat. He was glad he’d thrown on his pajama bottoms earlier, though he hadn’t bothered with anything else because he wasn’t expecting company until dinner that evening.

“Brought lunch,” she said simply, waving a bag of fragrant take-away in the air as she made her way toward the kitchen. Harry raised an eyebrow as he watched her rifle through Draco’s cupboards looking for plates, wondering what the blond would say if he knew she was there.

Harry padded toward the breakfast bar that separated the kitchen from the living space, leaning against it as he peered into the bag. 

“Draco might be coming home for lunch,” he said, his mouth watering as he sniffed at what smelled like curry from his favorite shop. “He has a really busy schedule today, but he said he’d try.”

“I Flooed Ron’s office to see if anyone was planning to bring you something, and I overheard someone say Blaise Zabini had brought him lunch,” she said nonchalantly, making a triumphant noise when she found the drawer that housed utensils, unearthing a few forks and spoons to bring to the counter with the plates. “I’m sure it was just a favor. Ron says Malfoy’s been busy, so I bet he was just dropping it by.”

Harry tried not to let his disappointment show, returning her smile as best he could. He’d hoped to have a few quiet moments with Draco before all of the Weasleys descended on the flat that evening for dinner, but it didn’t look like that was going to happen. He pushed his worries about why Draco would be taking a long lunch with Blaise to the back of his mind, reminding himself that Draco had assured him he had no lingering feelings for the other Slytherin. 

“I mean, they  _ did _ date for awhile, didn’t they?” she asked, handing Harry a plate full of curry. “It’s only natural they’d want to spend time together. I’m sure Zabini drops by all the time to see him.”

Harry nodded, taking a bite. 

“I’m sure he’ll be back here in time for the dinner tonight,” Ginny said comfortingly, patting Harry’s hand. “He wouldn’t want to miss a chance to get together with your family, would he?”

Harry nodded, smiling weakly. The Weasleys  _ were _ his family, and he knew Draco was uncomfortable around them.  _ Would _ he create an excuse to stay late at the office so he didn’t have to have dinner with them? Harry shifted uneasily, a cold feeling blooming in his stomach as all his previous doubts came racing back. 

He waited until Ginny left, apologizing profusely for leaving him but saying she had to meet Benny to talk about the wedding, before giving in to temptation. He hurried to the bedroom, pulling on a pair of trousers and a jumper before shoving his bare feet into a pair of shoes that he was reasonably sure weren’t actually his and hurrying to the Floo. He wasn’t checking up on Draco, he reasoned. He was just dropping by to say hello.

***

Draco didn’t even look up at the knock on his door as he scribbled furiously in the margins of the brief he was working on. He’d been stuck in the office all day catching up on the work he’d shirked to be with Harry at the hospital over the last few days, and he was absolutely starving as a result.

“Come in,” he called, wrinkling his nose as he scratched out a line and made a new notation.

“Lunch for you,” Blaise said, plopping a greasy bag on his cluttered desk. Draco growled at him, snatching the bag up before it could leak onto the pile of parchment underneath it.

“Not that I’m not grateful,” Draco said, opening the bag and drawing out a slightly sopping cardboard box filled with fish and chips, pausing to take a bite and swallow. “But what are you doing here?”

Blaise quirked an eyebrow at him, arranging himself elegantly in the chair across from Draco’s desk.

“You owled me about twenty minutes ago to go get you food,” Blaise said, speaking slowly as though Draco was a small child. 

Draco stopped mid-bite, swallowing quickly.

“I did?” he asked, his brow furrowing in confusion. He took another bite, relaxing back into his chair. Merlin, had he been so busy he forgot something like that?

Neither of them noticed Harry’s head peeking in large window beside the door, his eyes narrowing as he spotted Blaise. He backed away, too angry to trust himself not to erupt if he confronted the two Slytherins. Draco had told him he’d be busy all day, but here he was, more than an hour after Ginny had said Blaise had stopped by, still chatting with the man. His suspicion grew when the darker wizard pulled something out of his pocket, putting it on the desk. Both of them leaned forward to look at it, their heads touching. He couldn’t hear what they were saying, but it hardly mattered; Draco had obviously lied to him about being too busy to talk with him today, since he was clearly making time to talk with Blaise.

Harry wheeled around, heading straight back to the Floo. He  _ really _ had to make sure he and Draco talked tonight.


	16. Oct. 11

**Oct. 11**

Draco slammed his mug of coffee down on his desk, cursing when the hot liquid sloshed over the side and spattered against a stack of case notes he’d been working on. He cleaned up the mess with his wand, scowling at the mug as though it had something to do with the spill.

“Problem?” Ron asked, poking his head around the doorframe. He waited until Draco waved him in, crossing the small space in a few steps and handing the blond a stack of research he’d compiled for him.

Draco gritted his teeth, resisting the temptation to confide in Ron. After all, he was Harry’s best friend. He might know what was bothering the dark-haired man. Harry had stuttered and stammered his way through what  _ he _ obviously had thought was a conversation this morning over breakfast, but Draco hadn’t understood a word of it. He’d finally exploded at Harry, telling him to either spit out whatever he had to say or drop it, since he was late for court. His bit of temper had resulted in Harry storming out of the flat to do Merlin only knew what – he still had a week of sick leave before he had to be back at work himself.

Draco sighed, running his hand through his hair. He’d thought they were over the awkwardness they’d worked past on the island, but apparently not. The worst part had been that he really  _ had _ needed to be at the Ministry, so he hadn’t been able to follow Harry. He’d just gotten back to the office a few minutes ago.

“– doesn’t want to settle, but I disagree. Draco?”

Draco looked up, embarrassed when he realized he hadn’t heard a word Ron had said. The redhead took one look at Draco’s face and sighed, settling himself against the doorframe and crossing his arms.

“Let me guess. You had a fight, and he left in a huff,” Ron said, startling Draco with his insight. It had taken him awhile to get used to this observant, intelligent Ron Weasley – he was so different from the impulsive Gryffindor he’d known in school. 

Draco offered him a weak smile, wondering if he and Harry had grown as much as Ron had since school. Probably not, since they were fighting like school boys again.

“He’ll get over it. He probably went into work – it’s where he spent most of his time when he was dating Ginny. If not for her, he’d never have racked up the hours necessary for his big promotion,” Ron said with an eye roll. 

They both knew Harry loved his job, but he tended to use it as a shield against the real world. When life got tough, Harry retreated into his work, taking tough cases and volunteering for extra shifts. It was probably why he’d stayed with Ginny as long as he had.

Draco laughed along with Ron, feeling sick inside that Harry might feel the need to hide from him the way he’d hidden from Ginny. He looked at the clock, cringing when he realized it would be at least another four hours before he could possibly steal away. He sighed, reaching for a clean sheet of parchment so he could dash of a quick note to Harry to apologize.

***

Harry’s arm ached, and he found himself wishing he’d followed the Healer’s advice and worn it in a sling until both it and his collarbone were completely healed. Technically he should have been home, but he doubted he’d do himself any lasting damage by sitting at his desk and catching up on paperwork. It hardly took more energy than sitting on the sofa and watching the telly, after all.

“Couldn’t stay away, eh? Fighting already?” 

Harry looked up at his partner, grinning sheepishly. He’d been paired with Cuyler Degenhard since Auror Academy, and the man knew him better than almost anyone. It was pointless to try to hide anything from him. Harry had been worried about how the other Aurors would accept his rather abrupt change in sexual orientation, but Deg had been an immediate and constant defender against the small minority of guys who’d given him grief about it. Since he’d “come out”, so to speak, he’d found out there were several other gay men and women among the Auror ranks, so Harry figured the teasing had more to do with who he was – and who he was dating – than any real problem with his sexuality.

“Whatever he did, I’m sure he’s sorry,” Deg said with mock seriousness. He spun his own chair around, straddling it as he peered over Harry’s shoulder. “And if he’s not, he  _ will _ be. Anything that’s made you angry enough to voluntarily come in and work on  _ that _ must be pretty bad.”

Harry smiled in spite of himself, pushing the mind-boggling array of paperwork away. Ministry regulations required them to fill out a form for just about everything, and the stack of paperwork generated by his on-duty injury was nearly taller than him.

“My fault, really,” Harry admitted, wondering why it was so much easier to talk to Deg about what was bothering him than it was to confide in Draco.

“Tell Uncle Deg everything,” Deg teased, spinning around in his chair again and waggling his eyebrows with exaggerated interest. 

Harry laughed, leaning back in his own chair and propping his feet against the desk. Yes, things would definitely be easier if he could talk to Draco the way he talked to Deg.

“So it started when I heard him talking to his mother.”

***

Harry was just finishing up his paperwork when the owl came. His mood was much improved, thanks to his talk with Deg, who’d assured him he was just jumping to conclusions. Deg had attended Durmstrang, which meant it was easier for Harry to talk to him about Draco, since he had no preconceived notions about what the blond Slytherin was like. He’d worried that his friends would be quick to side against Draco in any argument because of past bad blood, which was why he hadn’t talked to anyone about his suspicions before. Deg had listened carefully and then offered suggestions about how to broach the subject with Draco, along with his personal opinion that Harry had overheard something totally benign instead of the nefarious things his imagination had conjured up. The German-born wizard had a practical way of looking at things that left little room for speculation, which was what made him such a good Auror – and an even better sounding board for Harry.

He unfurled the scroll after absently giving the owl a treat from his desk drawer, a slow smile spreading across his face as he read the hastily scrawled words. He hadn’t been back to the flat since he’d stormed out earlier, so he’d need to head home for a change of clothes first, but a night out was just what he needed. He tucked his unfinished work back into folders, leaving it on the desk as he hummed softly to himself, heading toward the Atrium to Floo back to Draco’s. 

***

Ginny flew off her barstool and into Harry’s arms the moment he entered the pub, drawing curious stares from a number of onlookers. He briefly worried about the photographers he knew were gathered outside, but Ginny’s hiccupping sobs quickly pushed any thought about unwanted publicity out of his mind.

“Oh Harry,” she cried against his chest, burying her face in his shirt. “I’m s-sorry I didn’t t-tell you in my owl, but I d-didn’t think you’d come if you k-knew.”

Harry wrapped an arm around her shaking shoulders, guiding her back to the stool where she’d been sitting. He could see the detritus of quite a few shots littering the bar where she’d been sitting, which worried him even more, since Ginny wasn’t a heavy drinker.

He felt uncomfortable with an armful of crying Ginny, but he didn’t know what else to do. Panic flashed through him as his mind went into overdrive, supplying images of any number of horrible things that could have caused her to be so upset.

“Your parents? Your brothers? Is everyone alright?”

His words just made her cry harder, and Harry tightened his grip on her, terrified his overactive imagination was right for once.

“H-he said horrible things about them,” she sniffled, raising her tear-stained face from the front of his shirt. 

“Who said horrible things about who?” he asked, his heart still racing at the thought of any of his adoptive family in trouble.

“Ben-Benito,” she stuttered, his name causing fresh gales of sobs. Harry relaxed fractionally, correctly ascertaining that whatever had Ginny upset had everything to do with her fiancé and nothing to do with her family.

“Slow down a second,” he said, petting her silky hair tentatively as he cradled her against his chest, the movement awkward since he couldn’t dislodge her iron grip on him. “What’s happened, then? A fight with Benny?”

She nodded, and he grimaced when a flash of light caught his eye. The  _ Prophet _ photographer was having a ball, snapping photos left and right of the Boy Who Lived and his ex-fiancée embracing. He could only imagine what the headlines would say the next day. He stifled a sigh, knowing the right thing to do was to be supportive for Ginny but wanting nothing more than to push her away and go home to Draco. They were having enough problems without something like this cropping up in the press.

“Can we go somewhere else?” he asked her, missing the look of triumph that flashed through her brown eyes. She sniffled, nodding slightly and holding him tighter.

“Side-along me?” she asked, her voice hoarse with tears. 

“Where to?” he asked, growing uncomfortably aware of the fact that  _ everyone _ in the pub was staring at them in earnest now.

“Our flat,” she said immediately, her voice wavering.

He gripped her tightly, breaking several rules by just Apparating them on the spot instead of heading out to the nearest Apparition point. He’d rather get a reprimand from the owner than risk being seen by even  _ more _ people leading his crying ex down Diagon Alley. Besides, the faster he got her home, the faster he could get home himself.

Harry let go of her as soon as the squeeze of Apparition ended, stumbling back a step and colliding with the chair he’d abandoned earlier that morning. Draco hadn’t taken the time to right it, and he hadn’t noticed it on his brief jaunt home for a cloak earlier. A wave of shame swept through him – Draco was an infallibly tidy person; if he hadn’t taken the time to set the chair to rights before leaving for work this morning, then he really  _ had _ been serious when he’d told Harry he didn’t have time for their conversation.

He flinched when he saw Ginny burst into a fresh gale of tears when she realized where they were. Clearly, his subconscious must think of Draco’s flat as  _ theirs _ , which would have brought a smile to his face in any other circumstances. But at the moment, he could see that Ginny was reacting rather badly at her words being so misinterpreted. He sighed, wondering if he should take her to her flat or just stay here and make some tea. The damage had been done, after all – she could hardly get  _ more _ upset, could she? His chest tightened at the thought of being in his old flat again, with all of its memories of their relationship. He’d much rather be here, surrounded by Draco’s familiar scent. He looked over at the Floo, hoping the blond would be home soon. He didn’t want to have to deal with this alone.

Ginny clenched her jaw, watching Harry through tear-filled eyes. She was furious that he’d taken her here instead of home, but she resolved to make the most of it. 

“He was only u-using me,” she stammered suddenly, realizing Harry’s focus was drifting. “H-he said he wanted to m-marry me, but it was all a l-lie.”

Harry resolutely wrapped an arm around her and guided her to the table, helping her sit before bending to right the fallen chair, caressing the wood lightly as he did in a sort of silent apology to Draco. 

“Just sit, I’ll make tea,” Harry said, leaving a surprised Ginny staring after him as he hurried around the counter to start boiling water on the range.

She’d expected him to hug her, comfort her –  _ something _ . Not to put as much distance as he could between them in the ridiculously tiny flat. She’d been less than impressed on her first visit here, and her opinion was only getting worse. She couldn’t believe that someone with as much money as Draco Malfoy would live like this – or that someone with as much money as Harry Potter would willingly join him. The flat they’d shared was easily four times this size, and she’d fought Harry tooth and nail for something larger, since she knew he could afford it. It was one of the first things they’d argued about years ago when they’d first decided to move in together.

Harry busied himself making tea, wishing the Floo wasn’t right out in the open so he could Firecall Molly or Ron or  _ anyone _ to come take Ginny home. He was hardly the right person to be comforting her when her fiancé dumped her, was he? He nearly snorted with irritation, wondering if she was really here because he was the only one she thought to contact or if she had some ulterior motive. His stomach twisted at the reminder of his fight that morning with Draco – he seemed to be a magnet for people with hidden agendas. Ron and George had both warned him Ginny might make a play to get him back, but he’d brushed their concerns aside. He shook his head grimly as he reconsidered their warnings, all of the uncomfortable moments he’d had with Ginny over the last few days falling into place as he recalled the flirting and light, seemingly accidental touches.

He jumped when she slid her arms around his waist, cuddling up to him from behind. He knew she could feel the way his entire body stiffened, but she made no move to release him.

“I can’t believe I left you for him, Harry,” she said, her voice small and quivering. Harry’s jaw clenched, his suspicions confirmed, but she couldn’t see it from her position, with her face buried against the back of his shirt. “You were so distant, and he, h-he was  _ there _ . He was interested in  _ me _ , interested in me in a way you hadn’t been for years. Oh Harry, can you ever forgive me?”

Harry turned carefully, grabbing her wrists and holding them away from his body, forcing her to take a step back. She sobered when she saw his hard expression, her tears drying almost instantly.

“I’ve forgiven you for leaving me at the altar, because  _ I _ should have called off the wedding ages before that. I’ve forgiven you for cheating on me for years, because  _ I _ enabled it,” he said softly, and she relaxed slightly at his words. “But I don’t trust you, and that’s not something you’re ever likely to win back. I’m sorry he broke your engagement, but that doesn’t mean we can pick up where we left off.”

Ginny pulled her wrists away from him, anger glinting in her eyes. 

“Oh, and you can trust  _ him? _ ” she snapped, crossing her arms. Harry instantly felt better to have her on the defensive; he was back on solid, understandable ground.

Harry bristled, his hands clenching at his sides. He couldn’t stop the flicker of doubt that crossed his face, though, and that was the opening Ginny needed. She seized on it immediately.

“Did he tell you how close he and Blaise still are? I bet he still fucks him. Do you think that’s what they were doing at lunch yesterday?”

Harry stalked away, headed toward the Floo. He’d just grabbed a pinch of Floo Powder to toss into the flames when Ginny grabbed his hand, scattering the coarse dust across the wood floor.

“What, he didn’t tell you all about the he had lunch with his  _ good friend? _ Leave that out of his daily accounting, did he?” she smirked, her brows raised in challenge. “Too bad you already knew. Poor darling. Maybe ignorance really  _ is  _ bliss, at least when someone’s cheating on you.”

Harry glared at her, grabbing another pinch of Floo Powder from the mantle and turning his back on her. He’d had enough, and he wasn’t about to just Apparate out and leave her in Draco’s flat by herself. Merlin only knew what she’d do.

“You already suspect him of it, don’t you?” Ginny crowed, looking absolutely delighted with herself. “You know what they say, right Harry? ‘Scorch a cauldron once, blame the fire. Scorch a cauldron twice, blame the wizard.’” 

Her words caught Harry’s attention, and he turned to stare at her. He’d actually never heard the saying before, but that hardly surprised him; all these years later, he was still finding out how much he didn’t know about the wizarding world because he’d been raised as a Muggle. All the same, he was able to figure out the gist of her meaning, and it had him seeing red.

“What, it’s  _ my _ fault if he’s cheating on me?” 

Ginny shrugged lightly, a pleased smile playing across her lips.

“I’m just saying that  _ I _ had to go elsewhere to find satisfaction. Why would Malfoy be any different? Don’t forget, I know what you’re like in bed, Harry,” she said with a smirk. “If he’s already straying, I’d say it’s  _ definitely _ you. And I can’t say I’m surprised, either. You’re a bit of a cold fish in bed.”

Harry gaped at her. He could feel his magic gathering just underneath his skin, his anger and hurt so great that it crackled around him. He forced himself to take a deep breath, forcing all of the energy back. He rarely lost his temper this badly anymore, and it was the result of years of meditation and careful conflict avoidance – his emotions had been kept on a tight leash for so long he’d almost forgotten  _ how _ to feel anything. He was good at his job because he could distance himself from feelings like this, but it had been harder and harder since he’d started dating Draco. A small part of him acknowledged that was because he was falling in love with the blond, but the larger part of him wanted to push everything back behind a wall and walk away from it – Draco included – to get his peaceful life back.

He looked down at his hand, remembering the Floo Powder that was gripped so tightly in his fist that he was sure he’d have some imbedded in his skin. He flicked it toward the flames, barking out “the Burrow” as he threw the powder in, resolutely staring into the fire instead of at Ginny.

“I’ll take you back when you come to your senses,” Ginny snapped, taking a step back toward the entryway. “Once you get tired of your little experiment, you can come home, where you belong.”

She Apparated away just as Molly’s head came into focus in the green flames, leaving Harry glaring furiously at the spot she’d just been.

“Did you need something, dear?” Molly asked, peering around the room in confusion. She thought she’d heard Ginny’s voice, but she couldn’t see anyone there but Harry.

Harry took another deep breath, forcing the tension out of his shoulders as he turned toward Molly’s voice.

“No. Sorry, Molly. Ginny was just here, but apparently she didn’t need you after all.”

***

Harry had finished off the last of the Firewhisky by the time Draco made it home from the office. He was slumped on the sofa, the empty bottle cradled against his chest as he started at the spot Ginny had last stood in through bleary eyes, when Draco Apparated into the kitchen, a stack of papers in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other. Draco had been worried when the owl he’d sent earlier had come back undeliverable, but he’d figured it was just because Harry had already come home from the Ministry. Now he wondered if the owl  _ had  _ found Harry and the man had sent it away without opening the letter.

“I see this is unnecessary,” he said dryly, waving the bottle in Harry’s direction. He could smell the Firewhisky from where he was, and it was obvious the dark-haired man was drunk. 

“Are you fucking Blaise?” Harry asked with no preamble, his numb lips slurring the words a bit.

Draco blinked, unable to process what Harry had just said.

“Are you?”

Draco held back a sigh. He was exhausted and he had a raging headache, and on top of all that, he’d brought another few hours of work home with him. And now any hope there had been of having a civil discussion with Harry about that morning’s fight was gone. He was just about to suggest a Sobering Spell and a shower so they could have an actual discussion when he noticed a familiar-looking handbag tossed carelessly on the counter. His eyes shot back to Harry, his stomach plummeting when he saw what could only be the lacy edge of a pair of women’s knickers protruding from underneath the edge of the sofa.

“Yes, Harry, I am,” he snapped, hardly noticing Harry’s sharp intake of breath. His own pulse was thundering in his ears, and he felt like the world was literally closing in around him. “How long have you been fucking  _ Ginny?” _

Harry pushed himself to his feet, stumbling toward Draco. The movement dislodged the knickers that had been resting near his shoe, and he tripped over them, crashing into the blond and knocking both of them to the floor.

“Much longer than I’ve been fucking  _ you _ ,” Harry spat without his alcohol-soaked mind registering the implications of the question.

Draco’s grey eyes hardened at Harry’s words, and he pushed Harry roughly, leaving him sprawled on the floor as he picked himself up. 

“Get out.”

“Why? So you can call  _ Blaise?” _ Harry mocked, glaring at the blond.

“Exactly,” Draco shouted back, resisting the urge to throw something when Harry slammed the door behind himself, apparently drunk enough to forget he could Apparate or Floo.

“Fuck!” Draco screamed, settling for sending the stack of parchment he’d sat on the counter flying with an open-handed smack. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”

He kicked one of the chairs in the dining room, sending it spinning on two legs until it toppled with a crash. His adrenaline spent, he collapsed into another, burying his face in his hands as he tried to figure out what the hell had just happened. 


	17. Oct. 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter features a short scene depicting domestic violence. If that is a trigger for you, you can skip the section that starts "You said you'd have the money by now" and pick back up at "It went well, all things considered" and I'll put a note at the end of this chapter to sum up the plot point so you don't miss out on an important development. <3

**Oct. 17**

“Harry, for fuck’s sake!” Deg growled, fisting a hand in his robes and pulling him back seconds before he stepped in front of a pair of trainees engaged in a practice duel.

The two of them had been reassigned as trainers at the Auror Academy until Harry was officially cleared for active duty again by the Healers, but he seemed to be finding ways to endanger himself even in the relatively safe confines of the Ministry. 

Harry murmured an apology, though whether it was to Deg or the trainees was unclear. He’d been operating in a fog for the last week, and only Deg’s careful attention at work (and Ron and Hermione’s attentiveness at home) had kept him from meeting an untimely end simply because he wasn’t paying attention.

Harry blinked in surprise when Deg shoved him into the break room, casting powerful privacy wards behind them to prevent anyone from entering or overhearing their conversation through the doorless entryway that separated the small room from the larger DMLE central room.

“You either need to get it together or go home,” Deg snapped with uncharacteristic venom. The unfamiliar tone caught Harry’s attention, and he stared at him in shock.

“I don’t mind being cooped up here with the newbies until you’re fit for duty again, but at the rate you’re going, Harry, I’m not sure when that will be.”

Harry stared blankly at him, and Deg growled, running a hand through his sandy brown hair in frustration.

“I know you’re fighting with Draco –”

“I’m  _ not _ fighting with Draco,” Harry interrupted, anger flaring in his chest. “That implies that I have anything to do with him, and I don’t. Draco and I aren’t together anymore.”

Deg sighed, wondering if there was any point to saying what he was about to say. It was obviously going to fall on deaf ears.

“He’s on your mind all the time. I can tell, Harry,” he said sharply when the dark-haired man made to protest. “You had something special with him, and I think you need to sit down and talk with the man before writing him off completely.”

“He slept with someone else!”

Deg threw his hands up in the air in exasperation.

“That doesn’t change the fact that you’ve been a useless sod ever since you found out, and from what your mate Ron says, so has Draco.”

Harry glared at Deg, crossing his arms firmly across his chest. Their argument was drawing attention from the trainees in the great room, but luckily Deg’s wards were holding, and the group assembling in the doorway could only see them, not hear them.

“You’ve been talking to Ron? About me?” 

Deg muttered something darkly in German before leaning against the counter, his posture every bit as defensive as Harry’s.

“I did. He’s worried about you.  _ I’m _ worried about you. You’re not yourself, Harry,” Deg said, gentling his voice at the pained expression on Harry’s face.

“‘You’re not yourself’,” Harry repeated, his lips twisted into a grim smile. “Hermione’s said that, too. And George and Molly. But how do you know that  _ this _ isn’t who the real Harry Potter is? Maybe I’m just tired of being the sad, stupid dupe that everyone walks all over. Maybe this  _ is _ me.”

Deg stared at him for a moment, struggling to rein his own temper in. He wanted nothing more than to deliver a swift blow to Harry’s head in the hopes that it would knock some sense into him – or at the very least bind him to a chair until he wasn’t being such a sulky bastard – but he knew that wouldn’t really help anything. Though it might make him feel better.

“Part of the problem is that you  _ don’t _ know who you are, Harry,” Deg said evenly. “You’ve spent your life being what everyone else wanted or needed you to be, and you’ve never really gotten to decide that for yourself. And yes, people  _ do _ walk all over you, but it’s because you let them. You let Ginny ruin your life for years, and now you’re letting her wreck the first real relationship you’ve ever had. You need to talk to Draco.”

Harry glared at him, whirling around and storming out of the break room. Half a dozen trainees scattered as he stomped past them, staring after him curiously as he continued out the door and down the corridor toward the Atrium.

“If you’re lacking enough to keep you busy, I’d be happy to assign extra work,” Deg barked as he strode out into the central room, feeling a sense of smug satisfaction when most of the trainees jumped and scrambled back toward their desks. 

“ _ Dickkoepfiger Vollidiot _ ,” he muttered as he stalked back to the office he and Harry shared. 

***

Ron sat on the counter briefing Draco as he primped for the Wizengamot. He’d ignored Draco’s initial grimace at his lack of manners, choosing to be comfortable instead of couth. Knowing Draco, this could take awhile, and he had a lot of evidentiary points to get through before the blond rushed out the door. No reason to stay on his aching feet when he could sit, Ron reasoned.

“– report that says she  _ was _ there, although the Auror at the scene didn’t administer Veritaserum, so it’s not as solid as an affidavit,” Ron said, flipping through a thick file in his lap.

“Owl her and see if she’d consent to come in for a deposition,” Draco said absently, retying his tie for the fourth time in pursuit of a perfect knot. 

Ron watched him for a moment, marveling at how different Draco and Harry were. Harry had practically fallen apart at the seams after their break-up, but Draco had done just the opposite. He’d come to work the next morning cool as a cucumber, perfectly coiffed and professional and ready to take on the day. It was strange to Ron to watch the two of them suffer and not be able to do anything about it, but since both men adamantly refused to acknowledge there was any part of their relationship worth salvaging, he didn’t have any other recourse. If he pushed the matter he could lose his best friend  _ and _ his job, and neither was something he was willing to risk.

He scribbled a note in the margin of the file, pushing thoughts of Harry out of his mind so he could concentrate. Draco apparently had no problem doing it – he’d been working like a maniac all week, putting in twelve and fifteen hour days as he prepared for the case that he was taking before the Wizengamot this afternoon. Harry had thrown himself into his work, too, but not as efficiently as Draco; Draco actually managed to get things done, while Harry seemed to exist in a constant fugue state, completely tuned out to what was going on around him. 

“The witnesses?” Draco prompted, looking at Ron in the mirror as he fussed with his hair.

“Right,” Ron said, shaking himself out of his thoughts. “The Auror report lists a second bystander who –”

***

“You said you’d have the money by now,” Benito said with a frown, glaring at Ginny.

She shrugged, toying with the water glass on the table. The  _ Prophet _ had run the photos of her and Harry out at the pub for several days, but the reports of their reconciliation had tailed off since they hadn’t been seen together since. She figured meeting Benny for a very public dinner was a step toward getting back in the news, especially if she could make him angry enough to cause a scene.

“I don’t have Harry back yet,” she said, raising her gaze to meet his challengingly. “No Harry, no money.”

Benito made a frustrated noise, looking away pointedly. She’d promised to support his racing team if he went along with her plan, but so far she’d been the only one to benefit. He’d been perfectly happy to shag her while she was engaged to Potter, but he’d broken it off after she’d left the man. He had no intention of even  _ dating _ her seriously, let alone  _ marrying _ her. She was an uppity bitch with a sharp tongue and a bad attitude who also happened to be an absolute vixen in bed. And when she’d approached him a few weeks ago with the proposal that they fake an engagement so she could win Potter back, he’d been skeptical. But then she’d promised him 250,000 Galleons, enough to ensure his team could continue on the European racing circuit for another two years at least. Definitely enough time for him to break into the top five, where the real sponsorship money was. 

“I want my money,” he said flatly, his nostrils flaring as he held his temper back.

“I want Harry,” she said simply, tossing her hair over her shoulder and smiling at him. “And you’re not going to get a Sickle until I can get my hands on his accounts, so it’s in your best interest to help me.”

Benito slammed his fist against the table, making the stemware rattle. Other patrons were starting to watch the couple, and Ginny fervently hoped at least one photographer was on hand. Otherwise what she was about to do would be for nothing.

“Hit me.”

Benito gaped at her, his anger displaced by shock. Had she just asked him to  _ hit _ her?

“You’re going to get up, and you’re going to throw down enough Galleons to cover our meal on the table. Then you’re going to grab my arm, pull me up from my chair, and walk me out of here,” she said calmly, ignoring his disgusted expression. “You’re going to take me out into the street, and if there’s a photographer out there, you’re going to hit me.”

Benito shook his head, his eyes wide. 

“The money, Benny. You get nothing if you don’t do this,” she hissed, leaning forward. Her hair fell across her face like a curtain, shielding her from view. “Listen to me you fuckwit. Do as I tell you or I’ll let the Ministry know you’ve been using magic to fix those Muggle races you love so much.”

A muscle in his cheek twitched, and she knew she’d finally gotten through. She had enough dirt on him to make him do anything she wanted, and she knew it. And now, so did he. She shot him a satisfied smile before she schooled her features into something more acceptable, sitting back so her expression of confusion and hurt was evident.

“Now,” she said through gritted teeth, kicking him under the table. 

He hesitated a split second longer, jarred into action when she mouthed the word “cheater”. He stood abruptly, tossing the pouch of Galleons from his pocket onto the table and wrenching her from her chair, his grip on her arm tight enough to bruise. If she wanted a show, he’d be happy to oblige. She’d get her 250,000 Galleon fucking  _ show. _

“Benny,” she said, her voice pleading. He wasn’t sure if the fear he could see in her eyes was real or not, but he didn’t care. He dragged her out of the restaurant, ignoring her softly spoken words until they were out on the street. The air was chilly, but not enough to counteract the sweat rolling down his back underneath his robes. He was about to hit a woman. It was enough to make him feel sick to his stomach.

A flash of movement across the street caught his eye, and he saw a photographer dart forward, camera already aloft. Without hesitating again, he pushed Ginny until her back was flush with the rough brick wall.

“Lying, manipulative  _ bitch!” _ he spat, raising his arm and slapping her forcefully across the cheek. 

Ginny’s entire body flinched at the impact. She hadn’t been braced for him to strike her so hard, and it took her a second to recover enough to remember her plan.

“You hit me!” she cried, raising her hand to cover the blossoming bruise on her cheek. She didn’t have to force the tears that spilled over; her entire jaw was aching from the slap. 

Benito glared at her, stepping back and Disapparating. He bypassed the entryway to his flat, Apparating directly into his bathroom, where he was immediately and violently ill.   
  
  


***

Though Harry had stopped reading the  _ Prophet _ the day it ran the photo of the two of them supposedly “canoodling” – as Skeeter had phrased it – in Diagon Alley, even he knew about the slap by noon the next day. It had been the source of much gossip in the Ministry café, where he’d stopped for coffee that morning, and all of the trainees were talking about it, too. 

A grim-faced Deg had slid the paper across the table in the break room when Harry had joined him a bit later, and Harry had read the accompanying story with mounting horror. It catalogued Ginny and Benito’s fight in the restaurant, as well as his rough treatment of her. The photo of the slap played over and over again, and after a few minutes Harry couldn’t stand to just sit there and watch as the hurt and bewildered expression in Ginny’s eyes seemed to leap off the page.

“Can’t pick him up for it,” Deg said without looking up from the Quidditch scores when Harry started to stand. 

“He was  _ photographed _ doing it!” Harry protested, wanting nothing more than to find the Italian bastard and throw him in a Ministry holding cell. He was angry with Ginny, sure, but no one deserved to be treated like that. 

“Photos can be doctored,” Deg said, eyeing Harry over the top of his paper. “Easily.”

Harry looked away, all too aware of that truth. The photo the  _ Prophet _ had run of him and Ginny had been edited heavily, the sequence rearranged to suggest they’d been snogging heatedly before Ginny’s tears.

“True.”

***

“We’re your family, Ginny!” Molly said, her features pinched with worry. “You should trust us enough to come to us when you’re in trouble.”

Ginny sighed, looking around the dining room table. All of her brothers had come home for this emergency “family summit” as her father liked to call them, even Charlie, who was still stationed in Romania. She’d counted on Harry coming, too, but only eight chairs had been sitting around the well-worn pine table when she’d arrived, dashing her hopes. 

“Does Harry even  _ know _ ?” she asked pointedly, ignoring her mother and directing her question at Ron.

“Ginevra Weasley!” Molly cried, shocked her daughter’s priorities could possibly be so skewed.

“I don’t know,” Ron answered, studying his sister’s expression carefully. “Hermione and I have stopped showing him the paper, since he doesn’t want to see it. I imagine he probably did once he got to work this morning, but I have no way of knowing for sure.”

She glared at him, the heat in her eyes making the darkening bruise on her pale cheek stand out even more.

“This has nothing to do with Harry,” Percy cut in, watching Ginny with a look that bordered on pity. 

“This has  _ everything _ to do with Harry!” she shouted, squeezing her eyes closed before she could say or do anything more. Nothing was going the way she’d planned, and she was about to blow everything if she didn’t hold on to her composure. 

“You have nothing to do with Harry,” George said, his voice uncharacteristically cold. “You gave Harry up the day you refused to marry him in the most public and embarrassing way you could contrive. Leave him out of this.”

Ginny kept her eyes closed, counting backward from fifty slowly. When she was sure she could speak without shrieking, she opened her eyes again, seeking out her mother.

“I need him,” she said, her voice soft. “I’m in over my head with Benny, and I need Harry to help me. He’s the only one who can. I don’t feel safe.”

Molly wiped at her eyes with her apron, her heart breaking for her youngest child. Never had she imagined Ginny would get involved with someone who would hurt her – not her headstrong, stubborn, brave little girl.

“It’s settled, then,” she said briskly, standing quickly. “You’ll move back here to the Burrow until this mess is sorted out. We’ll go to the Aurors if we have to. Your father and brothers and I will keep you safe, Ginny. I promise.”

Ginny clenched her teeth, seething with anger. This was going all wrong.  _ Harry _ was supposed to be the one offering to avenge her.  _ Harry _ was supposed to be the one insisting she let him protect her. 

“No!” she cried, standing up and pushing Molly away when her mother tried to wrap her arms around her in a comforting hug. “This isn’t how it is supposed to go. Harry should be here. I won’t let him wreck this!”

Arthur moved to stand, but Ginny brushed past him, running toward the Floo in the sitting room and jumping into the flames before anyone could register what she was doing. George was close enough to her hear call out her destination – the Ministry – before she disappeared.

The family was silent for several beats, staring dumbly at the fire as the green faded, leaving yellow and orange tongues of dancing flames as the last of the Floo powder burnt away.

“What has she done?” Molly murmured faintly, leaning back against Arthur as struggled to understand what had just happened.

“I think we know what she’s done,” George said flatly. “I knew she was obsessed, but I didn’t think she’d go so far as to stage something like  _ that _ to get Harry’s attention.”

Ron shook his head, the mention of Harry’s name breaking him out of his shocked daze.

“Fucking hell. Harry. She’s gone to do something stupid,” he muttered, sharing a look with George as the two of them dashed toward the Floo.

***

“It went well, all things considered,” Ron said philosophically, earning himself a smack from Hermione.

Ron shrugged, mixing more sugar into his already-sweetened coffee. Hermione let it pass, unable to chastise him about his sugar intake when he’d just spent his morning and afternoon at the Ministry trying to find his sister a suitable solicitor. No one else – not even Molly – had come after Ginny had been taken away by the Aurors for disorderly conduct and assaulting a magical law enforcement officer, and Ron had felt it his duty to at least help her find someone to defend her in tomorrow’s arraignment. She’d pleaded for him to do it himself, but he’d refused; he was on Harry and Draco’s side, for Merlin’s sake! She’d acted like a complete banshee. He hardly recognized the sister he’d grown up with, and it scared him.

“St. Mungo’s was able to fix Harry up?” she asked, rubbing Ron’s back when he slouched forward with a groan over the kitchen table.

“It was just a small gash,” he said, his tone resigned. He wasn’t making excuses for Ginny, but he couldn’t help but wonder if Harry had known exactly how much he’d provoke her by telling her that not only had he enjoyed having his cock up Draco’s arse, he fully intended to find another wizard’s arse to shag as soon as he could, since he found fucking men to be much more pleasant than shagging  _ her _ . He felt rather sick at knowing that himself, but that didn’t excuse Ginny’s behavior. “Harry didn’t even want to go, but the other Aurors insisted. The Healers are keeping him overnight, though.”

Hermione grimaced. This was going to hurt Harry’s career, she was sure of it. 

“Anyone we know?”

“Oh, yeah,” Ron said, rolling his eyes. His stupid bint of a sister had hexed Harry Potter in the middle of the Department of fucking Magical Law Enforcement. What the hell had she expected to happen? That the Aurors would invite her to sit down over tea and discuss things? 

“Adams and Stevens were the ones to Stun her. They were in his class at the academy. He took a real ribbing for allowing a frail woman like Ginny to get the drop on him.”

Hermione snorted, her lips twitching with amusement. She could see Ron grinning into his coffee, too. Ginny, a frail woman? She’d played professional Quidditch! She was probably every bit as formidable as the average wizard, though the Aurors had been right; Harry was much stronger than she was. He’d just been unwilling to strike out against her to defend himself.

“Can I assume she didn’t take that comment very well?” Hermione asked, looking both apprehensive and amused. She’d wondered if the assaulting a magical law enforcement officer charge had come from what she’d done to Harry, but since he hadn’t been on duty at the time she’d doubted it.

“Adams is at St. Mungo’s too,” Ron said with a wince. “She hexed off his bollocks.”

Hermione wrinkled her nose. Ginny had never been one for subtlety, but that was over the top even for her. She wished she knew what had happened to the sweet girl she used to be. They’d all known Ginny would go a bit mad when she realized who Harry had taken with him to the island – especially after it was clear their plan had worked and the two had come back with a new outlook – but none of them had figured it would end with Ginny spending the night in a Ministry holding cell for attacking an Auror.

“Mum’s in a right state,” Ron said, shaking his head. Hugo started to cry down the corridor, and he stood, waving Hermione off. “I’ll get him. You should Floo over to St. Mungo’s to see Harry. I’m not sure he really wants to see a Weasley right now.”

Hermione huffed, wiggling her ring finger in his face.

“I  _ am _ a Weasley.”

He rolled his eyes, pointing toward his hair and his freckles.

“ _ You _ are a Weasley by marriage. You don’t have the necessary accessories to be on his shit list at the moment.”

***

Harry turned restlessly in the narrow bed, annoyed beyond measure to be spending the night in the hospital. Ginny’s hex had barely grazed his cheek, but the table he’d fallen onto had aggravated his healing collarbone, and the Healers insisted he needed to keep it immobile overnight to prevent further damage. And since Deg had so helpfully pointed out that he didn’t follow instructions like that very well, he found himself a guest of St. Mungo’s for the evening.

“Stupid fucking wanker,” he muttered darkly, envisioning the smirk on Deg’s face as he stared at the ceiling.

“Talk about yourself in the third person much, Harry?” 

Harry struggled to sit up when the familiar voice broke the silence of his room, but the spells the Healers had cast on him prevented him from moving enough to tweak his collarbone, meaning he wasn’t able to do much more than raise his head to glare at Blaise.

“Fuck off.”

“Charming,” Blaise said, taking a seat near Harry’s bed so the dark-haired man could look at him easily. Harry was tempted to turn his head the other way to ignore him, but decided that would be childish.

“I’m here because Draco is currently pacing a hole in a very expensive rug in my study because he’s too stubborn to come check on you himself,” Blaise said conversationally, crossing his legs and settling himself into the uncomfortable chair.

“Fuck. Off.”

Blaise rolled his eyes, refusing to let Harry’s venomous aside distract him from his mission. He was tired of spending his time trying to reason with a sulky blond, and even Harry Potter in a full temper wasn’t going to run him off before he said his piece.

“Do you know  _ why _ he’s abusing my poor Aubusson, Harry?”

Harry gritted his teeth, glaring daggers at the other man and mentally cursing Deg even more for landing him in this position, unable to escape.

“No? It’s because he loves you, and he’s worried sick about you, but he’s too stubborn to admit it.”

Harry snorted, looking away. He didn’t want Blaise to see the tears that were suddenly pricking in his eyes. 

“He loves me?” he snarled, his voice thick. “That’s rich, coming from the man he’s been shagging behind my back.”

Blaise made an impatient sound, shifting in the chair to lean forward.

“He and I haven’t shagged since we dated years and years ago,” he said evenly.

“But he said –”

“I know what he said. He was just trying to wind you up, because he thought  _ you’d _ been sleeping with Ginny.”

Harry turned to stare at him, his mind suddenly racing. 

“You told him you had been. You lied to him just like he lied to you. So you’re even.”

Harry shook his head, desperately fishing for words.

“I didn’t,” he said weakly, hope blooming in his chest for the first time in a week. Could Blaise be telling the truth? Had Draco really  _ not _ been cheating on him? 

“You did. You told him you’d been fucking her longer than you’d been fucking him,” Blaise said, his tone almost bored. All of this could have been avoided if they’d only just  _ talked  _ to each other. It was ridiculous. 

“That’s not what I meant,” Harry protested, struggling once again to try to sit up. Blaise sighed, standing and hooking his hands under Harry’s arms, tugging him further up the bed so he could rest his back against the pillows. 

Harry nodded at Blaise, feeling much better now that he wasn’t having this conversation laying down.

“So you didn’t –”

“We didn’t. Why in the world would you think he’d want me, when he has  _ you _ ? Merlin, you’re the one he’s wanted for years. He wouldn’t throw that away for a shag.”

Harry shook his head, his thoughts whipping around too fast to process. Draco had lied to him. He hadn’t slept with Blaise. Hell, Draco  _ loved _ him.

“But I heard him talking to his mother about me,” Harry said, his green eyes flashing as he remembered the conversation he’d overheard.

“Yes. She’s horribly embarrassed that he lives in that hovel he calls a flat, and he was assuring her he intended to move to a nicer place once the two of you agreed on where you’d like to live,” Blaise said patiently, marveling at how suspicious Harry’s mind was.

Harry gaped at him, trying to fit all the pieces together in his brain. Snippets of the conversation between Draco and Narcissa flitted through his consciousness, and he was both embarrassed and relieved to realize that everything they’d said made sense in that context. Merlin, he’d been an idiot.

“I thought he was just using me,” Harry said faintly, a horrible weight crashing down on him as he realized he might have bollixed up his relationship with Draco over a few stupid misunderstandings. He had no idea if the blond would take him back; hell, if  _ he _ was Draco, he probably wouldn’t. He’d been an utter arse. Harry looked up at Blaise, anguish etched on his face. “I thought he only wanted me so he could brag he’d had Harry Potter’s cock up his arse. Fuck, I’m an idiot.”

Blaise’s eyes widened at Harry’s words. He couldn’t believe what he was hearing.

“He let you fuck him?” he asked, knowing it was none of his business but unable to help himself.

Harry looked at him, distracted by the flurry of thoughts and emotions rushing through him. 

“Of course,” Harry said, confused. He thought everyone knew they were shagging. They  _ lived together _ , for Merlin’s sake.

“He actually let you fuck him,” Blaise said again, a touch of wonder in his voice.

“Well, yes,” Harry said, starting to feel uncomfortable at the abrupt change in topic. “I mean, I’ve never – you know. So it only seemed natural he’d be the one to do it.”

“You’ve never let him fuck you?” Blaise asked incredulously. This tidbit of information changed practically everything – there was no doubt in his mind Draco was head over heels in love with Harry Potter now.

“No,” Harry said slowly, staring at Blaise with a puzzled look.

“Well fuck me,” Blaise said softly, shaking his head. He grinned at Harry, startling the dark-haired man. “Draco never bottoms. Ever. As far as I know, he’d never even tried it before you.”

Harry stared at him, unsure of the implications of his words.

“He’s obviously mad for you, you idiot,” Blaise said, rolling his eyes in exasperation. “Now you just have to find a way to make it up to him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ginny manipulates her fake boyfriend into hitting her so a Daily Prophet photographer can catch it and Harry will see it. He does actually strike her in anger. Ginny's family rallies around her but it becomes clear she did it to get Harry's attention, and the Weasley family realizes she needs help because she's dangerously obsessed with Harry. Ginny leaves the Burrow to Floo to the Ministry to find Harry.


	18. Oct. 25

**Oct. 25**

Draco glared churlishly at his breakfast, as though the toast had done something to annoy him. He huffed out a sigh, pushing the plate away. Actually, it had. One of the first things Harry had done when he moved into the flat had been to purchase a new toaster, calling Draco’s old one a fire hazard waiting to happen. 

In fact, Harry had found fault with most of the appliances in the flat – except for the state-of-the-art espresso machine, which was the only thing in the kitchen Draco ever used. It had been one of the reasons he’d been looking to move to a different flat, some place that would give them more space and a better view. He knew his flat was cramped, but it had hardly mattered when it was just a place to sleep after a long day at work. Which it was again, he supposed.

Draco clenched his teeth, angry because he’d allowed himself to wallow in self-pity again. If he wasn’t careful, he’d find he’d spent his entire day mooning over Harry, and that simply wasn’t acceptable. He was a grown man – a  _ Malfoy _ , as his parents never failed to remind him now that their relationship had been rekindled _ –  _ with a highly successful business and an otherwise full life. And if that wasn’t good enough for Harry Potter, well, then screw Harry Potter.

He let his head fall back at his unfortunate choice of words in his mental pep-talk. He’d never actually screwed Harry Potter, now had he? No, he’d been patient and careful and understanding, and look where it had gotten him. Harry going back to his ex not two months after they got back from the island, apparently deciding he  _ did _ like women more than men.

He looked around, wondering if he was making the right choice going forward with the move. Just because Harry wasn’t in his life anymore didn’t make this place any less cramped or ill-suited for cooking or spending nights in. Not that he planned to do either, but still. Harry had only lived here a little over a month, but there were still reminders of him everywhere. Ron had come by and boxed up Harry’s things last week, but there were still memories of long, leisurely shags in the shower, playful evenings on the sofa – hell, Harry had given him a blow job in the dining room chair he was sitting in right now. 

Draco shook himself out of his useless reverie, determined to put Harry behind him and move on. His mother was clamoring for him to meet the son of some witch she used to work with on one of her endless committees, going so far as to schedule a dinner date for Draco with him this evening, at the man’s home, no less. He snorted, wondering if his mother assumed all gay men thought of nothing but sex. 

His father was more circumspect, refusing to be drawn into conversations about Harry, which suited Draco just fine. He knew his father thought he’d let a prime opportunity pass him by when he let Harry go without a fight, but frankly, he could care less about what linking the Malfoy name to Harry Potter could do for his family. 

Draco flicked his wand at his uneaten toast and cold coffee, Banishing them to the sink. He had to get to work.

***

“That should do it,” Neville said, a note of pride in his voice as he sat back on his heels, surveying the neat rows of shrubs and cheerful-looking herbs planted in the freshly tilled soil. 

Harry wiped a hand across his sweaty brow, not caring that the gesture streaked his forehead with dirt. He and Neville had spent the entire day readying the garden for tonight, and he was beyond relieved that they’d finished before the sun set. It had taken a lot more work than he’d anticipated, given the relatively small size of the garden plot.

“I’ll come back tomorrow and set the necessary wards and spells,” Neville said, standing and dusting his own dirty hands on his well-worn denims. “These plants aren’t indigenous to England’s climate, so we’ll need to put up some standard warming and protection charms.”

Harry nodded, even though he had no idea what Neville was talking about. He supposed most of the places the plants usually grew were dry and warm, but he hadn’t really taken that into consideration when he’d decided to plant the garden.

“And you’ll need quite a few harvesting and drying spells, but that won’t come until later,” Neville continued, oblivious to Harry’s blank look. “Gran has one of these, so I’d be happy to come back when the plants are ready and show you how to do it.”

Harry nodded again, a smile curving his lips as he thought about what it might be like to come out here and harvest the small leaves. How they got from this to the final product was a complete mystery to him, but he hoped his efforts wouldn’t be for naught. The whole thing had seemed like such a brilliant idea when he’d first thought of it, but now, standing in the newly planted garden, watching the way the waning light glinted off the windows of the house he’d so impulsively purchased, he wasn’t so sure. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to look at the freshly painted farmhouse with its sweeping porch and solid, traditional lines through different eyes. 

He jumped when Neville clapped him on the back, following his gaze with a knowing smile.

“It’s just the thing you need,” he said, shielding his eyes against the sun as he looked up at the house. “A clean break with the past. Something new that you can make your own.”

Harry nodded, feeling slightly queasy at the implications of Neville’s seemingly reassuring words. He was right. He  _ did  _ need to put the past – all of it – behind him. He only wished there was some way to know knew he was doing the right thing.

***

“It’s the best deal you’re likely to get,” Ron said, his face hard as he looked up at Ginny. 

She’d asked him to look over the plea agreement her solicitor had drawn up. She’d hoped he’d take a bit to think on it, possibly even going as far as to go home and talk it over with Harry before telling her his opinion. Surely if Harry knew  _ this _ was what her fate was to be he’d intervene, wouldn’t he? 

“I’ve requested Harry be at the sentencing,” she said quietly, looking down at her hands, which were folded in her lap. She knew what her family thought of her these days; even her mum thought she was a disgrace. How could Harry ignore her at a time like this, when everyone else had deserted her? She was certain that if he came to the hearing and saw how ostracized she’d become, how unfairly she was being treated, that he’d speak for her. 

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Ron said, his jaw set as he looked away, unable to meet her eye.

“What did he say when he got the notice?” she asked, unable to help herself. 

“I wouldn’t know,” Ron snapped, shuffling the parchment in his hands idly and laying the neatened stack on the table. 

“Isn’t he staying with you and Hermione?” Ginny asked, feeling a slight glimmer of hope.

Maybe Harry had decided to move back to their flat after all. She’d been kept in the dark about virtually everything, an unwilling guest of the Ministry until her trial was over. Her solicitor had initially promised her she’d only be kept in the Ministry holding cell overnight while the paperwork was filed, but the Auror she’d hexed had suffered a negative reaction to some of the potions he’d been given at St. Mungo’s, changing his condition from stable to critical. It also meant the charges filed against her were graver, and given her connection to Benito, the Ministry solicitors had deemed her an international flight risk and successfully appealed to have her held until the trial.

“No,” Ron said curtly, pushing his chair back and standing. He knew exactly what Ginny was doing – trying to play on Harry’s emotions so he’d ask the Wizengamot for a lesser sentence – but he also knew it wasn’t going to work. Even if Harry had wanted to, there would be nothing he could do. He hadn’t been the one to file the charges; that had been done on his behalf – and Adams’ behalf as well – by the DMLE.

He winced at Ginny’s downright feral grin, a shiver of unease slipping down his spine. He didn’t know when his baby sister had become this conniving, manipulative woman, but he definitely felt like he was sitting across from a stranger, not a member of his family.

He grabbed his briefcase, deciding to let Ginny make what she wanted of his confirmation that Harry wasn’t staying with him and Hermione any longer. He certainly wasn’t going to offer up any details about Harry’s life to her.

“Will I see you tomorrow?” she asked, a quiver of doubt edging into her voice for the first time. Ron flinched, hating himself for wondering if the emotion had been real or contrived. “At the hearing?”

Ron shook his head, pausing in the doorway to look back at his sister.

“I have work. Mum and Dad will be there,” he said, resting his hand on the door handle.

“George?” she asked, biting her lip when Ron shook his head. “Percy?”

Ron shook his head again, looking down at the floor. All of his brothers had agreed to support Harry in this, not her. Even their parents felt Ginny deserved to serve time for what she’d done, though they were hoping she’d be spared Azkaban in favor of one of the lower security prisons that offered therapy and rehabilitation.

“Fine then,” she snarled, her features twisting into a hateful sneer. 

“Good luck, Gin,” he said softly, letting himself out of the room without looking back. 

***

Draco sat back in his chair, taking a break from reading to massage his aching temples. His mother had Flooed a few minutes ago, reminding him he’d agreed to meet the man she was setting him up with tonight. More like given in to her infernal nagging, he thought uncharitably. The last thing in the world he wanted to do right now was spend an evening making uncomfortable small talk with some stranger simply because his mother thought he needed to start getting out more.

“Draco,” Pansy said from the doorway, making him squeeze his eyes shut in frustration.

“Again?”

“Again. Please,  _ please _ just go. She’s driving us all insane. The receptionist is threatening to quit if your mother doesn’t stop calling!”

Draco nodded in resignation, pushing the stack of briefs aside and rubbing a weary hand over his face. He’d Apparate home and change and then pop over to the Manor to see his mother. No doubt she’d have a conniption fit if he showed up for a date dressed like this.

“Can I tell her you’re on your way?” Pansy asked hopefully, watching as he grabbed his robes from the coat rack in the corner.

“Yes, fine,” he huffed, glaring at her before Disapparating with a pop.

“Thank Merlin,” she muttered, heading back toward the Floo to relay the news to Narcissa.

***

“A word, Draco?” Lucius drawled from his seat in front of the fire, making Draco cringe. He’d just gotten the Floo address for his blind date, and he’d hoped he could sneak out of the Manor without seeing his father. He just didn’t feel up to dealing with a lecture from him on top of what was sure to be a disastrous dinner with the mystery man his mother had gushed so effusively about.

“Of course, Father,” Draco answered, careful to keep his jaw unclenched. It wouldn’t do to face his father with gritted teeth – the man always noticed things like that.

“Have a seat,” Lucius said, motioning to the tall-backed chair opposite his own. Draco sat automatically, years of training to obey his father’s commands instantly coming back despite the fact that it had been years since he’d been compelled to follow them.

“This thing between you and Potter,” Lucius began, and it was only his iron will and strict upbringing that prevented Draco from cutting him off, assuring him there was no longer a  _ thing _ between himself and Harry. “It worries me, Draco.”

Draco fought to keep his expression blank. He really wasn’t in the mood to hear about how having a liaison with Harry Potter could do great things for the Malfoy name. He’d nearly shouted with laughter the first time his father had phrased it that way – a liaison. Such a clinical and cold term to describe the only relationship he’d ever had that had been wholly based on emotion and attraction instead of any sort of rational thought.

“I realize your mother and I have been … distant from you in recent years,” Lucius continued, seemingly oblivious to the internal battle for calmness his son was waging. “But that does not mean I have not worried for your safety and happiness every day. You are my  _ son _ , Draco. I want only what is best for you.”

A lesser man would have gaped at Lucius’ words, but Draco merely watched him warily, keeping his reactions firmly in check. 

“Over the years we have disagreed over what actions were in your best interest, but no matter whether or not I agreed with the decisions you made, I have always loved you and been concerned about your well-being.”

Draco nodded woodenly, unsure how to respond to such an uncharacteristic display of emotion from his father. Thought the words had been delivered in his typical dry style, the depth of feeling behind them had been clear. He was blown away by the frank way his father was speaking; it wasn’t something he’d ever heard before.

“I’m afraid you’re letting your pride get in the way of your best interests now, with Potter,” his father said, and Draco felt his spine stiffen. Lucius paused, clearly uncomfortable with the conversation. “It is clear to me that you love him. And no matter what my feelings on the matter, you owe it to yourself to see if what you had with him can be salvaged.”

Lucius held his hand up when Draco would have protested, cutting him off.

“This is not about the family name. This is about  _ you _ , Draco. Your mother and I are so pleased to be back in your life, and I can’t help but think Potter had something to do with that. When you are with him, you are … brighter. Happier. That is all I want for you, Draco. To find someone who makes you happy.”

Draco’s thin hold on his emotions broke at his father’s casual mention of how happy he’d been with Harry. Hurt and anger swirled in his grey eyes, and his throat tightened uncomfortably.

“Harry made his choice,” he said, hating the rough edge to his voice that gave away his emotions.

Lucius stood, rifling in his desk for a thin folder. He opened it, withdrawing a single piece of parchment and handing it to Draco.

“This is from Ginny Weasley’s deposition,” Draco said, his brow furrowing in confusion as he looked up at his father.

“Indeed. Her Veritaserum-controlled deposition,” Lucius answered, giving Draco a quelling look when he would have questioned him further. “I still have friends at the Ministry, Draco,” Lucius drawled, looking pointedly at the cuff that rested around his ankle. “No matter what my present circumstances.”

Draco nodded, his eyes falling back to the highlighted text on the parchment. The Aurors had asked Ginny whether or not she was currently engaged in a sexual relationship with Harry Potter, and she had said – he blinked, re-reading the line. She had said no. She had said no! 

“Son of a bitch,” Draco murmured, handing the parchment back to his father.

“Lily Evans’ disposition aside, I think it’s safe to say Mr. Potter did not choose another, Draco.”

Draco bit his lip, holding back a smile. Harry hadn’t cheated on him with Ginny. 

“Draco?” his mother called from the doorway, startling him. “Are you still here, darling? You’re late.”

“Mother, I –”

“You simply  _ cannot  _ back out now, Draco,” Narcissa chided, sweeping into the room and motioning for him to stand. She brushed the wrinkles out of the Muggle suit he’d chosen for tonight, smiling in satisfaction when she stepped back to look at him. “He’s already prepared dinner. It would be unconscionably rude. You  _ must _ go.”

Draco swallowed, unsure of what to do. He hadn’t wanted to go on this date in the first place, and now that he knew Harry had lied about sleeping with Ginny, he wanted to go even less. But his mother was right. And since this was the son of one of her friends, it would be a horrible insult to stand him up. He’d just have to go and make his excuses. Surely the man would understand. And then he’d Floo Ron; he knew Harry had been staying there lately. Hopefully he could catch him before he went to bed. As much as it galled him to take the first step, it was obvious he’d have to if they were to have any chance at reconciliation. After all, Harry thought  _ he _ had cheated on him, just as he’d thought Harry had. 

“Of course,” he said, stepping forward to press a kiss against her cheek.

“Do Firecall tomorrow to let me know how things went,” she said, following behind him as he made his way to the Floo. 

Draco nodded absently as he checked the Floo address scribbled on the piece of parchment his mother had given him earlier. He frowned at the odd name, shrugging as he threw Floo powder into the flames, calling out “paradise” as he stepped forward.

***

The first thing Draco noticed when he stepped out of the Floo was the distinctive ceiling fan in the sitting room. Not only was it unusual for a wizarding home to have such a thing – Cooling Charms were usually sufficient, especially in the U.K., where summers usually weren’t terribly hot – but it was also an exact replica of the one he’d stared at night after night while hoping for sleep while stranded on the island with Harry.

He brushed ash off his jacket, hope flaring in his chest as he looked around the deserted room. Everything in it was reminiscent of the cottage, from the paint color on the walls to the comfortable, casual furniture. He nearly forgot to breathe as he hurried toward what he assumed was the kitchen, following the sound of clinking glassware.

He skidded to a stop in the doorway to the brightly lit kitchen, gasping quietly when he saw Harry puttering away at the counter, mixing drinks. The dark-haired man’s back was to him, but it was unmistakably him. Draco’s heart nearly burst through his chest, his limbs going weak with relief.

“Harry.”

Harry whirled around, his green eyes wide as he studied Draco. The blond’s face was slightly flushed, and he couldn’t tell if he was angry or happy to find that Harry was his blind date for the evening. 

“You – but –”

“I hope you’re not terribly mad at your mother for lying to you,” Harry said, still trying to gauge Draco’s reaction. He hadn’t bolted immediately for the Floo, which was a positive sign, but he also hadn’t moved from the doorway, which could be bad.

“She – but you aren’t – this is –”

Harry grinned, the tight knot his stomach had been twisted into all night loosening. Draco at a loss for words was a rare thing indeed, and more than likely it meant he was pleased, not angry, at the turn of events.

“If you’d still like to have dinner with a random bloke, I think the neighbor is free tonight. He’s definitely gay, at least going by the way he pinched Neville’s bum when he was here earlier.”

Harry’s words shocked Draco out of his stupor, and he stumbled forward, closing the distance between them in a few long strides. He grabbed Harry’s face between his palms, pulling him forward for a searing kiss that said everything his mouth didn’t seem to be able to. 

Harry groaned, running his hands through Draco’s hair as he returned the kiss with equal fervor. It had been weeks, but Draco felt and tasted exactly the same, and Harry leaned into the kiss, desperate to erase any memory of their fight or the time they’d spent apart.

“Harry,” Draco sighed against his lips, resting his forehead against Harry’s as he tried to catch his breath and wrap his mind around the fact that he was standing here with  _ Harry _ . “Merlin, Harry.”

“Draco,” Harry said just as reverently, his hands running over every bit of Draco he could reach. He wanted to be sure this wasn’t a dream, that Draco really  _ had _ come, and that he seemed to have missed Harry every bit as much as Harry had missed him.

“I lied,” both of them said at once, prompting a moment of silence before they broke into laughter.

“I know you did,” Harry said, taking a step back so he could look at Draco as they spoke. “He came to see me a few days ago. Fuck, Draco. I’m so sorry. I should never have doubted you, and I never, never meant to make you think I’d gone back to Ginny.”

Draco smiled sheepishly. The misunderstanding had been just as much his fault as Harry’s; he’d openly lied about sleeping with Blaise because he’d been so angry at the accusation.

“Blaise came to see me,” Harry admitted, color spreading across his cheeks. 

Draco narrowed his eyes, wondering exactly what Blaise had said to Harry. He certainly hadn’t told Draco about the visit, which made him even more suspicious.

“He told me, ah, well –”

“Shit,” Draco swore, feeling a hot blush creep onto his own cheeks. He’d never meant for Harry to know that. Stupid fucking Blaise. 

“No, I’m glad I know,” Harry said quickly, looking up to meet Draco’s eye. “I wish  _ you’d _ told me, but I’m glad I know.”

Draco shrugged slightly. He failed to see how it mattered at all, especially at a time like this. Shouldn’t they be talking about the fight they’d had? Or Ginny’s attack? Draco had details from Ron, but he still felt uneasy when he thought about how easily things could have been worse.

“Where are we?” Draco asked suddenly, looking around the well-appointed kitchen as though just realizing where he was.

“Well,” Harry said, looking extremely uncomfortable. “Blaise told me you’d been thinking about moving to a bigger place. About  _ us _ moving to a bigger place. And I, that is to say, I –”

“You bought a flat for us,” Draco said, a dry tinge of amusement in his voice. He looked around the large kitchen again, wondering what on earth would have possessed Harry to do something like this. What if he hadn’t wanted to live with him? What if he hated the place? What if he’d decided he was better off without him?

“Not exactly, no,” Harry said, running a nervous hand through his hair.

“Whose place is this, then?” Draco asked, a coil of fear unfurling in his belly. He hadn’t misread Harry, had he? This definitely wasn’t Ron’s house, and he doubted any of Harry’s friends could afford a place like this. What if Harry had brought him here to tell him he was seeing someone else? 

“Er, well, ours. Yours and mine. Both of our names are on the deed,” Harry stammered, staring at the tile floor. 

Draco stared at him for a long moment, puzzled. As things began to fall into place, he hurried over to the window above the kitchen sink, peering out into the darkness outside. They definitely weren’t in London, and he could see the faint outline of a patio and garden just outside.

“A house? You bought us a  _ house _ ?”

Harry flushed darker, only barely resisting the urge to fidget.

“It seemed logical. You wanted more space, and we like our privacy. A house just seemed to make more sense.”

Draco stared at him in shock for a few more moments before dashing toward the door and throwing it open. He stepped out onto the generous porch, gaping at the expanse of land around them. The house Harry had purchased for them was set on a large parcel of land, guaranteeing them privacy from prying eyes. 

Even in the darkness, he could make out the shapes of the plants in the nearby garden. He inhaled slightly, the mingling scents making his chest constrict. 

“You planted a garden,” he said softly, not turning when Harry came up behind him. He could feel the heat of his body through his clothes, and he instinctively stepped back, his body seeking contact with Harry’s.

“Do you recognize the plants?” Harry asked, resting his chin on Draco’s shoulder.

“Tea. You’ve planted a tea garden,” Draco said, his voice filled with wonder. It was without a doubt the sweetest thing anyone had ever done for him. It spoke volumes about how well Harry knew him and the lengths he’d go to make him happy.

“We have everything we need to make the blends you like best,” Harry murmured in his ear, nipping lightly at his earlobe.

They stood there for a few more moments, the crisp air making them snuggle closer together for warmth as they stared out over the garden and surrounding land.

“Do you want to see the rest of the house now?” Harry asked, still unsure whether or not Draco liked the gesture.

“No,” Draco said, stepping away from Harry. 

Harry’s heart sank, and he forced himself to meet Draco’s piercing gaze. His pulse skipped a beat when he saw arousal in the grey depths instead of the dismissal he’d been expecting.

“Bedroom first,” Draco said, his voice hoarse with need. “The rest of the house can wait.”


	19. Epilogue

**Oct. 31, five years later**

“You’ve got to be kidding.”

Harry stifled a laugh as he watched Ron studiously keep his eyes fixed on a vase on the mantle. Despite the furious intensity of his gaze, Harry doubted the redhead could tell him so much as what color the antique porcelain was.

“They slip,” Draco said matter-of-factly, letting the elastic band snap tightly around his thigh as he released it. It was true. He had no idea how he was going to make it through the entire party without them pooling around his ankles at some point.

“ _ Adhaero _ ,” Pansy said in a bored tone, pointing her wand at Draco’s thighs. He shivered slightly as the spell brushed dangerously close to his bollocks, but she just rolled her eyes at his theatrics. “What? You said they were slipping. I merely helped you out by spelling them in place.”

“I’ve never seen  _ you _ wear those,” Susan said, quirking an eyebrow at Pansy questioningly.

“No,  _ you _ never have,” Pansy said tartly, and everyone laughed as Theo flushed red and looked away.

Ron looked even more uncomfortable with where the conversation was heading, and Harry took pity on him, clapping his hands together to get everyone’s attention. They were going to be late as it was, and there was no reason to make Ron suffer any longer. Here, at least. He’d still have to spend the entire party avoiding Draco. And apparently Pansy, Harry thought with a smirk.

“Shall we?” he asked, ushering people out of chairs and toward the Floo.

He and Draco had redecorated the sitting room a year or so ago. Gone was the kitschy island motif, replaced by soft fabrics, comfortable furniture and an entire wall of floor-to-ceiling bookshelves for their growing collection. Blaise heaved himself up off a leather ottoman, dragging his date along toward the flames. They were dressed as Anthony and Cleopatra, and Harry wondered if Blaise had chosen the woman for anything other than her olive skin and dark hair. They looked stunning together, of course, but he hadn’t heard them speak a single word to each other in the hour they’d been there.

Lucius and Narcissa were celebrating the end of their house arrest with a Halloween Ball. They’d even gotten permission from the Ministry to hold it at one of the most sacred Samhain spots in the British Isles – Stonehenge. The magical stones would be teeming with wizarding pilgrims over the next three days, but tonight, on the eve of Samhain, it would be reserved for the Malfoys and 600 of their guests. The list read like a who’s who of the European wizarding elite, with politicians, musicians and academics rounding out the predominantly aristocratic crowd.

“I still don’t understand why he’s wearing a dress,” Ron said after everyone else had gone, still keeping his eyes averted in case Draco had any other hosiery mishaps.

“Because he’s Princess Buttercup,” Hermione said, grinning at Draco’s flowing gown, accentuated by the gold and ruby circlet he was wearing in his hair.

She gave Harry an appraising glance, taking in his black leather breeches and tailored doublet, which hugged his torso and flared over his hips, exposing a delicately wrought waistcoat embroidered with silver and green thread that matched the embellishments on his black doublet. Knee-high black boots were laced up over his trousers.

“And Harry’s Wesley, obviously.”

Ron gave her another baffled look before stepping into the Floo, his chain mail shirt scraping loudly against the stone when he stumbled over himself. Dressing as Tristan and Isolde had been entirely Hermione’s idea, but he hadn’t protested because armor had sounded manly and cool; unfortunately, he hadn’t taken into account how cumbersome it would be.

She gathered her long skirts and followed behind him, muttering about his complete ignorance of the Muggle world as she called out her destination and disappeared.

“Princess who?” Draco whispered, his breath stirring the hair above Harry’s ear.

“I have no idea,” Harry answered, just as baffled. He wrapped an arm around Draco’s waist, feeling unexpectedly aroused by the way the blond looked in the corseted dress. He wouldn’t go so far as to say that he was turned on by cross dressing; it was more the fact that it was  _ Draco _ under the swaths of silk and lace. “But you  _ do _ rather look like a princess in that get-up.”

Draco smiled coquettishly and danced out of Harry’s embrace, his eyes cast demurely on the ground.

“And  _ you _ look every bit the dashing rogue,” Draco teased, pulling up his voluminous skirts to examine the dainty buckle on one of his shoes.

“Aye,” Harry said gruffly, grabbing Draco roughly and dipping him low enough that the blond locks that had been charmed longer brushed the ground. “Avast ye mateys and all that.”

Draco laughed when Harry buried his face in the creamy skin the top of the dress exposed. He’d stopped short of actually stuffing the corset to give himself cleavage – it was one thing to publicly embarrass his father, and quite another to publicly embarrass  _ himself _ – so Harry had no problem pushing the delicate fabric aside and laving his tongue over the pebbled nipple he found.

“You’re the worst pirate I’ve ever heard,” Draco smirked, tilting his head when Harry’s lips caressed their way up over his collarbone to kiss his neck.

“That’s hardly what a damsel in distress would say,” Harry chided, nibbling along Draco’s chin. He knew he’d be hexed from here to Surrey if he mussed the make-up that Pansy had painstakingly helped Draco apply, so he steered clear of his lips. “You should be saying ‘oh, Pirate Harry, please spare me!’”

“Ah, but I’m no damsel in distress,” Draco murmured, wriggling against Harry. “I’m a pirate too, remember?”

“Oh, for Merlin’s sake!” Pansy huffed, and the two men paused, looking over at the fire in time to see her disembodied head roll its eyes. “Can’t you two stop for long enough to come through?”

***

Harry sat heavily on the edge of the bed, pulling his boots off and rubbing at his aching feet. The party had been a smashing success, if the way Lucius and Narcissa had been received by their guests was any indication. He knew the elder Malfoys had worried that society wouldn’t welcome them back with open arms, but it seemed that their house arrest – coupled with the copious amounts of money they’d donated to worthy causes over the years – had paved the way for acceptance.

He grinned as he remembered Lucius’ reaction to their costumes. He’d seen Harry first and simply been confused, and then he’d turned an unattractive shade of puce when Draco had sauntered over, his skirts held up a delicate and demure few centimeters to keep the hem clean as he’d walked across the lawn. It had been Narcissa’s fault, really. She’d insisted that costumes were mandatory and had asked that guests come dressed as historical or fictional couples. Since that left their options unappealingly slim, Draco had opted to dress in drag. It had taken quite a bit of doing, but they’d managed to find a husband and wife pirate team that had terrorized the high seas in the early 18th century; for some reason, Draco had absolutely  _ insisted _ that Harry had to be a pirate.

Since Eric Cobham and his wife Maria Lindsay had been actual historical figures, Lucius hadn’t had a leg to stand on, argument-wise. It hadn’t stopped him from making a few scathing comments about their sex life that had reminded Harry of the old Lucius, the one he’d known years ago. But Harry and Draco hadn’t taken too much offense, especially since the rest of the guests had quite enjoyed their outfits and had given Lucius quite a bit of ribbing about them.

He leaned back against the pillows, listening to water run in the bathroom. Draco was probably washing the make-up off. Coupled with his porcelain skin and lengthened hair, the artfully applied make-up had made more than one guest do a double-take. While he still looked like Draco, he’d definitely made a convincing woman.

He’d closed his eyes by the time Draco emerged from the bathroom, letting a fragrant burst of steam into the bedroom from his shower. Half-awake, Harry sniffed appreciatively, the familiar scent of slightly spicy sandalwood cut with citrus making his cock twitch within the confines of the tight leather.

“Didn’t change,” he mumbled, still not opening his eyes. Draco had insisted he remain in the bloody costume while he changed, though Harry had made the executive decision that the boots could go.

“Neither did I,” Draco purred as he straddled Harry’s prone body. Green eyes flew open at the words, and his throat went dry at the sight of Draco – his hair returned to normal, his face free of make-up – still wearing the corset that had gone underneath the dress he’d worn.

“Draco,” he whispered, his eyes wide at the sight of Draco, naked but for the corset and a pair of silk knickers, straddling him.

“I thought it only fair,” Draco said reasonably, trailing a long finger up Harry’s leather-clad thigh before tracing the intricate pattern on his waistcoat. Harry’s erection pressed painfully against the laces of his trousers, and he could feel himself start to sweat inside the restrictive doublet. When Harry looked at him in confusion, he laughed quietly. “Because I made  _ you _ stay in costume.”

Harry shivered when Draco’s fingers circled the bulging leather, his breath catching in his throat when he started unlacing the crotch. The dark-haired man nearly sighed in relief when the binding trousers were released, letting his fully hardened cock free. He moaned when Draco leaned over his torso, his intoxicating scent enveloping him moments before hungry lips descended on his. Harry brought his hands up, running them over the corset. He felt an unexpected thrill run through him as his hands skated over the unfamiliar fabric, his fingers tracing the hard outline of the boning that had managed to make Draco’s already trim waist look impossibly small. The contrast of the tiny waist with his wide shoulders made Harry’s cock pulse.

“Fuck, you look –” Harry faltered, at a loss for words. He never would have suggested Draco dress in a corset, but now that he was, he had no words to describe how turned on he was by it. Or how embarrassed he was that he found Draco dressed as a woman arousing.

Harry’s heart beat faster at the sight of Draco’s mussed hair, heavily lidded silver eyes and slightly swollen lips; that alone usually made him crazy with desire, but the added element of the forbidden that the corset brought to the picture made him even more aroused.

Draco chuckled, rubbing himself against Harry’s thighs, the thin silk knickers sliding easily against the leather. He groaned, throwing his head back at the sensation of the cool fabric gliding against his swollen shaft. The knickers were too small to contain him, and the head of his cock peeked out the top, pink and shiny with precome. Harry licked his lips, his eyes locked on the small strip of exposed skin between the corset and the kickers, accentuated by the head of Draco’s cock trapped against his abdomen. It looked deliciously out of place, and Harry delighted in running a teasing finger over the pale flesh, touching so lightly that Draco could barely feel it. The blond jumped when his thumb grazed over the head of his cock, rubbing the slick precome in small circles as he leaned in for another kiss, this time sliding his tongue between Draco’s lips.

“More,” Draco groaned, arching into the touch and grinding himself into Harry’s palm. He hissed in disappointment when Harry’s hand disappeared, trailing its way up over the silk knickers and back to the corset.

“I have other plans for you,” Harry murmured, his trembling hands fumbling with the delicate laces on Draco’s corset.

“I’m sure you do,” Draco smirked against his mouth, nipping at Harry’s lower lip as he pulled at the doublet that had looked so tantalizing stretched across Harry’s wide shoulders. They struggled with the unfamiliar fasteners and laces for a few frustrating minutes, tugging and pulling on fabric until one of the seams on Harry’s waistcoat split under the pressure. The sound of ripping fabric was abnormally loud in the quiet room, and they stayed silent for a few more beats before bursting into laughter.

“We’re quite a pair,” Draco said with a smirk, fingering the torn seam on Harry’s waistcoat and then a bit of lace trim that had come loose on his own corset.

Harry grinned back, rolling to his side and grabbing his wand from the nightstand. Two quiet spells later he was naked, and Draco was wearing nothing but the silk knickers. When the blond quirked an eyebrow at him, Harry blushed and shrugged.

“And here I thought I’d learned all your kinks in the last five years, Potter,” Draco drawled, his smile growing when Harry flushed even darker. “Oh, and you  _ do _ like it, don’t you?”

Draco grabbed Harry’s hand, guiding his palm over the still-tented knickers. He groaned and thrust against him, not missing the soft moan the gesture pulled from Harry. He held Harry’s gaze, arousal spiking through him at the way Harry’s green eyes had darkened.

“Shall I keep them on?” Draco murmured in Harry’s ear, shivering involuntarily when Harry’s cock, which was wedged against his hip, twitched violently.

Harry buried his face in the curve of Draco’s neck, his face blazing with embarrassment and arousal.

“What was that?” Draco teased, shrugging his shoulder to dislodge Harry. “I didn’t quite catch your answer.”

“Yes,” he mumbled, refusing to meet Draco’s gaze.

Draco climbed atop him, making sure the silk knickers came in contact with Harry’s erection. Harry gasped at the sensation of the fabric, which had been warmed by Draco’s skin, sliding over his aching cock as Draco ground their hips together.

“God, Draco,” he moaned, surrendering to a heated kiss when Draco bent over him and captured his lips, his hips still moving against Harry’s.

“Hurry,” Draco murmured, releasing him and climbing off. He crawled to the middle of the bed, raising himself up on his hands and knees and looking over his shoulder at Harry, who didn’t hesitate at the invitation.

Harry fumbled for his wand again, casting Lubrication spells on both Draco and himself. He pushed the silk knickers aside, his pulse quickening at sight of the crimson fabric against the pale skin. He groaned when the finger he slipped into Draco’s entrance met no resistance; the blond had obviously prepared himself in the shower.

“Eager?” Harry teased, adding two more fingers and drawing a satisfying moan from Draco as he brushed them over his prostate.

“Confident,” Draco said tartly, hissing out a breath when Harry removed his fingers and replaced them with the blunt head of his cock.

Harry closed his eyes, resting his head against the smooth skin of Draco’s back as he slowly pushed into him. He couldn’t help but shudder when his balls brushed against the silk knickers once he was fully seated inside the blond, the sensation nearly enough to send him over the edge. He paused, gathering the willpower not to let himself explode before pulling back slightly and thrusting into the tight heat again, making Draco gasp when his thick cock grazed over the sensitive bundle of nerves hidden inside.

“Draco,” Harry murmured reverently, his eyes squeezed shut as he concentrated on slowly sliding in and out of him, knowing each stroke across his prostate was sending the other man closer to release. Sweat rolled down his back at the effort of gentling his thrusts, but he wanted to make Draco come without touching him, and he knew from experience that the slow build-up was sure to do it.

“Harry,” Draco keened, his voice hoarse. He pushed back against the dark-haired man, forcing him deeper.

With movements born of familiarity and practice, Harry quickened his strokes, knowing from Draco’s body language that he was close. He snapped his hips forward, his thrusts going from gentle to merciless with almost no warning. Draco let his head fall forward on the bed, a litany of wordless begging falling from his lips as Harry brought him higher and higher.

Draco came with a soundless scream, his body clenching around Harry’s cock almost violently as he bucked against the mattress, hot spurts of come coating his belly and the crimson knickers. Harry drove into him deeper, riding out Draco’s orgasm as it sparked his own. He pumped his hips, growling Draco’s name as he came hard, his arms and legs burning with the effort to stay upright as pleasure burst through every cell in his body.

“I fucking love these knickers,” Draco murmured sleepily against the duvet, letting himself collapse against the mattress and taking Harry down with him.

Harry scooted over slightly so the bulk of his weight wasn’t pressing Draco into the bed, leaving his head and torso still draped across the blond’s back.

“Mmm,” groaned, pressing a kiss between Draco’s shoulder blades. “Me, too.”

***

Draco rolled over, frowning when he realized the bed was empty. He sat up sleepily, looking around the room. The remains of Harry’s pirate costume and his corset were still on the floor where Harry had Banished them, but Harry’s robe was missing from the wardrobe door. He stretched, tilting his head to listen for the shower. He could just make out the drum of running water.

He sighed, easing himself out of bed. It was barely dawn, but he wasn’t surprised that Harry was up, even after the late night they’d had. Harry had a ritual he never missed on Nov. 1. It had started years ago, when his father had been forced to give a detailed accounting of any Death Eater activity he knew of during his trial. The Wizengamot hadn’t limited the scope of its investigation to the Second Voldemort Rising, which meant Lucius had faced hours of interrogation into activities from both wars. One of the more salient points that had come from it, though, was the fact that the Potters had actually died just after midnight, making the date of their death Nov. 1, not Oct. 31 as all the newspapers and history books reported.

Harry had made it his practice to visit their graves in Godric’s Hollow in the early morning on Nov. 1 ever since the revelation, taking a small gift for each of this parents as well as tokens for Sirius, Remus and Tonks, all of whom were also buried in the same cemetery. He made a similar pilgrimage to the cemetery in Ottery St. Catchpole on April 1 to visit Fred’s grave, accompanied by the rest of the Weasleys.

Draco picked up a small box on Harry’s nightstand, absently brushing his fingers across it. Harry took it with him every year, using it to store the small tokens he gathered throughout the year to bring with him to his parents’ graves. Draco had never accompanied him, but every year he woke early to offer Harry whatever comfort he could before the man set off for the visit, which usually took most of the morning. Harry was always somber and withdrawn when he returned, and Draco ached to go with him, but he didn’t feel it was appropriate for him to intrude on something so personal.

He looked up at the closed bathroom door and replaced the box on the nightstand, his chest tight. Harry didn’t notice as he eased the door open, but he did turn when the shower door opened and Draco stepped into the steamy cubicle.

“I didn’t mean to wake you,” Harry said softly, offering Draco a small, apologetic smile. It was the same thing he said every year.

“You didn’t,” Draco answered, though it was only partially true. He had a hard time sleeping if Harry wasn’t next to him, and he rarely managed to stay asleep if the other man rose early.

This was part of their yearly routine, too, this avoidance of the real reason Harry was awake and showering before the sun was even over the horizon. They never talked about where he went or what he did there, but Draco knew because Ron had told him that first year so Draco wouldn’t panic when Harry disappeared for the day. Harry never spoke of his parents or the other loved ones he’d lost, and Draco tried his hardest not to be hurt that he couldn’t share that part of himself. He’d learned to make do with Harry’s love and trust, acknowledging that much of Harry’s history belonged to others, not him, and that there would likely be parts of Harry he never got to see.

“Wash my hair?” Harry asked, the dark smudges under his eyes letting Draco know he had awoken long ago, even if he’d only recently left the bed.

Harry was rarely this tentative or needy anymore, but his old mannerisms seemed to resurface every Nov. 1. Draco accepted it, relishing the chance to share at least some of Harry’s burden by taking care of him when he was vulnerable. It was his only part in this yearly ritual, and he itched to do more.

“Of course,” he answered, grabbing a bottle of his own shampoo from the ledge. Any other day they showered together he’d use Harry’s shampoo, but on this day he always used his own. He knew it was petty, but he liked the thought that at least some part of him would accompany Harry to Godric’s Hollow, even if it was only a familiar scent that reminded Harry of him and their life together.

Harry tilted his head back wordlessly, not questioning him when Draco massaged the distinctively scented shampoo into his scalp. He simply let the water beat over his torso, his head inclined toward Draco so the blond could wash his dark locks. He stepped back when Draco gently pushed on his chest, keeping his eyes closed so Draco could rinse off the suds. Draco didn’t bother with the conditioner he used on himself, knowing from experience that it would do absolutely nothing for Harry’s thick, unruly locks. Instead, he picked up a wash cloth and lathered it up with his special sandalwood soap, pulling Harry entirely out of the stream of water so he could start sliding it over his slick skin. It never smelled quite the same on Harry – something about his body chemistry transformed it into something muskier – but Draco liked that even better. Unable to resist, he leaned forward, his lips grazing against the exposed column of Harry’s tanned throat as he moved the wash cloth in soothing circles over his golden skin.

“That feels nice,” Harry sighed quietly, relaxing into Draco’s slippery massage.

Draco made sure to wash every bit of Harry with slow, sure strokes. He tossed the wash cloth aside when Harry was covered in suds, sidling up to him and pressing their bodies together. His skin slid easily against Harry’s slick soap-covered body, and both men groaned softly as the friction of their cocks rubbing together made them both hard.

Harry groaned as Draco’s long fingers massaged tense muscles in his back, gliding over the warm, soapy skin with ease. Draco batted Harry’s hand away when he tried to return the favor, instead turning him toward the spray to wash away the soap.

“Let me take care of you,” Draco said, echoing the words he said every Nov. 1.

Harry said nothing in response, leaning back heavily against Draco as the other man’s chest. He could feel Draco’s erection nestle between his arse cheeks, and his pulse sped up in anticipation of what was to come. He hissed out a breath when Draco’s hand snaked its way down his chest, wrapping around his cock and tugging on it gently. He wanked Harry languidly, his lips busy against Harry’s neck, alternating soft kisses and sharp nips against the silky skin. Harry sighed, enjoying his passive role in their lovemaking.

He nearly stumbled when Draco abruptly released his cock, the other man’s hands moving to steady Harry’s hips as he knelt behind him. Harry’s breathing quickened, every muscle in his body tensing deliciously at the first swipe of Draco’s warm, soft tongue against his entrance. Harry spread his legs further apart, bracing himself against the shower wall to give Draco better access.

Draco hummed his approval, sending sparks of pleasure through Harry as his mouth vibrated against his sensitive skin. Harry’s eyes drifted shut as he focused on the sensation of Draco his teasing hole with his tongue, darting it inside to stretch him and then retreating to circle his slickened entrance with firm, short strokes. He pushed back against Draco after a few minutes, aching for deeper penetration than his tongue could give him.

Draco’s cock jumped at Harry’s quiet whimpers. From the way the other man was trying to ride his face, he judged him adequately stretched. Harry protested briefly when he pulled away, the words trailing off when Draco replaced his tongue with several fingers, rotating them slowly in Harry’s arse to make sure he hit his prostate.

“Please, Draco,” Harry murmured, his words almost lost against the backdrop of falling water.

Draco stood, guiding Harry over to the tiled bench they’d added to the large shower years ago for occasions like this. It made it so much easier to be able to use the bench for support and leverage, as they’d discovered nearly four years ago when Draco broke his wrist after losing his balance during sex in this very shower. He grinned at the memory, glad he was finally able to laugh at something so mortifying, and reached for the bottle of lube they kept on a shelf above the bench. They rarely used Muggle lube outside the shower, but since wooden wands didn’t mix well with steamy showers, they didn’t have the benefit of magic when making love inside the shower cubicle.

Draco bit his lip as he coated his erection with the viscous liquid, holding back a moan. He poured more into his fingers, generously coating Harry’s entrance. He didn’t particularly like the feel of Muggle lube – so synthetic – but it was a necessary evil at times like this.

As an afterthought he reached for one of the towels hanging over the shower door, rolling it into a pillow of sorts for Harry to rest his head on as he bent over the bench.

“Ready?” he asked Harry, making sure the other man was comfortable.

“Mmm,” Harry answered, wiggling his arse in the air from his bent position, his legs spread as wide as they could be and his arms braced against the bench, supporting his torso and head.

“So sexy,” Draco murmured, rubbing the head of his cock against Harry’s slickened entrance. The spray from the shower was beating down over them, threatening to wash away the lube, so he pushed inside quickly.

He groaned when Harry braced his knees against the bench for leverage and thrust back against him, impaling himself on Draco’s cock and forcing him more deeply inside. He marveled at the wanton way Harry squirmed and wiggled underneath him, desperate for deeper, harder strokes. There was no sign of the timid man who’d been so nervous about bottoming that he’d nearly worked himself into a nervous frenzy before the first time he’d done it.

Draco gripped Harry’s hips, forcing him to still his motions. The dark-haired man grunted in frustration, but Draco immediately picked up the pace and Harry’s grunt turned into a moan of pleasure at the new angle. He groaned again when one of Draco’s hands wrapped around his cock, stroking him in time with his slow, deep thrusts.

Draco wished he could fuck Harry like this forever, but he could tell the other man was getting desperate for release, and his own orgasm was slowly building in his belly. He planted his feet more firmly against the floor, picking up the pace so he could bring them off. He came a split second before Harry, his orgasm prolonged by the way Harry’s arse spasmed around him as he tipped over the edge, coming hard into Draco’s hand and sobbing his name against the tiles.

Draco waited until the last of Harry’s shudders had stopped before pulling out of him gently. His spent cock hung heavy against his thigh as he bent over Harry, pressing soft kisses up his spine until he reached his neck. He wrapped his arms around the other man, helping him into a standing position. They stayed like that, spooned against each other, until the water started to turn cool.

“I love you,” Harry murmured, turning his face so it was pressed against Draco’s neck, the words almost too soft to carry. The blond shifted a bit. This wasn’t part of the yearly routine. “Come with me?”

Harry’s quiet request startled Draco, who pulled away slightly so he could look at the other man. Harry had never even told him where he went, and now he was asking him to come along? Hope flared in Draco’s belly, making his chest burn with everything he wanted to say but knew he shouldn’t.

“To Godric’s Hollow. I know Ron told you where I go,” Harry said, meeting Draco’s eye. “I told him to.”

Relief coursed through Draco. Harry had never meant to hide this part of himself away; he’d just been unable to share it with Draco outright.

“Of course,” Draco whispered, kissing away the wrinkle of tension that always formed when Harry frowned.

***

He and Draco spent two hours at his parents’ grave, delivering the trinkets he’d collected for them – this year it had been a Snitch Harry had caught at the alumni match at the Hogwarts reunion over the summer and a silver broach with lilies on it he’d seen at a Muggle antique shop – and telling them about his year. It hadn’t been nearly as hard with Draco there at his side, and Harry could have kicked himself for not bringing him sooner. He’d thought he might feel silly sitting there talking to a piece of stone if Draco was there to watch, but the blond had amazed him, sitting on the blanket he’d spread over the cold ground with him and adding bits of information Harry forgot to mention. Draco Malfoy, conversing with a headstone without blinking an eye – who would have thought? Harry gave him a one-armed hug, warmth flooding through him as he thought about how much he loved him. He nearly tripped when he looked up and saw a familiar face as they neared the cemetery gates.

“Luna?”

Harry stared at his quirky friend, who was sitting with her legs intertwined in what looked like a very precarious position on top of a headstone a few graves away. Her wispy blonde hair was pulled up into a messy knot at the back of her head, and she was dressed in a jumper and skirt that looked far too thin for the cool November chill. The thick striped tights she wore seemed to be her only concession to the cold.

“Harry,” she greeted him, her voice solemn. When she saw Draco behind him, though, her face lit up, and she jumped up from the stone, her dangling earrings and multitude of bangle bracelets bouncing with the sudden movement. “And Draco! I knew it. I  _ knew _ this would be the year. Blibbering Humdingers never lie.”

Draco shifted uncomfortably under the weight of Luna’s scrutiny, but Harry stepped forward, enveloping her in a warm hug.

“What are you doing here?”

Luna smiled serenely at him, her blue eyes twinkling in a way eerily reminiscent of Dumbledore.

“I’ve been here every year,” she said simply, wrapping an arm around Harry’s waist and walking him back toward his parents’ graves.

Harry looked at her quizzically, sharing a bewildered glance with Draco, who was trailing slightly behind them.

“I’ve never seen you,” he said carefully, wondering exactly what was going on. Only Ron and Hermione – and Draco, of course – knew where he disappeared to every Nov. 1. And he was certain they wouldn’t have told Luna.

“You haven’t seen me because you haven’t been ready to see me,” she said cryptically, making him quicken his pace when she started skipping as the familiar headstones appeared in the distance. Harry allowed himself to be pulled along, his curiosity outweighing his sorrow for once.

“Luna, what are you talking about?” he asked, forcing her to stop several graves before his parents’.

She just gave him a maddeningly frustrating smile and pulled away from him, closing the distance between them and his parents’ grave. She crouched down before the slab of stone, running a finger over the weathered lettering reverently.

“I’ve come to tell you it’s time, Lily,” Luna said, leaning in to press a kiss against the cold stone.

Draco stepped up beside Harry, grasping his hand tightly as they watched Luna settle herself in front of the grave. She continued to whisper something to the marker, but just as Harry would have intervened, the stone glowed brightly for a moment, shocking him into silence. When the soft light receded, he saw a gleam of gold lying on top of the gray stone.

Luna gave the stone another loving caress before hopping up and taking the object in her hand. She skipped back to Harry, opening her palm and revealing a gold pocket watch on a long, thin chain. Harry took it cautiously, releasing Draco’s hand so he could turn it to read the inscription on the back.

“ _ To my son, James Ignotus Potter, commemorating the birth of his own son, Harry James Potter. ‘The most valuable gift a man can have is the ability to see himself through the eyes of his child.’ 31 July, 1980. Ignotus Archibald Potter” _

Harry opened the watch with shaking fingers, gaping at the names and dates inscribed on the inside. It went back seven generations. He closed it, running a finger over the etched inscription on the back. He handed it to Draco, who mirrored his gestures, handling the watch as if it was a priceless artifact. Which, Harry supposed, it was, if he was really to believe it was a gift from his father from beyond the veil.

Harry shook himself out of his stupor when he realized Luna was watching him with wide, unblinking eyes.

“ _ Munia Enitor _ ,” she said as soon as he looked up at her, ignoring Draco’s sharp inhalation at the words. “My mother owed your mother a life debt. Since Lily died before she could fulfill it and you were missing, the life debt transferred to me when my own mother died.”

Harry stared at her, trying to make sense of her words. Luna owed his mother a life debt? Was it even possible to owe a life debt to someone who was dead?

“It transferred to you, of course, when your mother died. That’s why my own mother tried so hard to find you after you disappeared,” Luna continued, her tone surprisingly conversational since the subject had to be a difficult one for her. Harry knew it sure as hell was for  _ him _ , and he hadn’t even really known his parents.

“I knew when I met you, you know,” she said, leaning in conspiratorially. Draco took an unconscious step closer to Harry, the pocket watch still warm against his palm. “You were so fierce and proud and I knew right then that I’d never be able to satisfy the life debt in the traditional way.”

Harry tried to interrupt, to tell her that her friendship alone had been a lifesaver for him and that she owed him nothing else, but she shook her head, resting a cold finger against his lips to silence him.

“And then I saw the way you looked at Draco,” she said, a wistful smile on her face as she nodded toward the man in question. “And I knew.”

Draco edged closer to Harry, their hips bumping. He’d gotten to know Luna over the years, but this was outside the realm of normal, even for her. He slipped the watch into his pocket, patting it to make sure it was secure before reaching down and taking Harry’s hand again.

Luna beamed at them, clapping her hands in excitement and startling both men. Draco had to fight the urge to grab her by her thin shoulders and shake her until she told them what the  _ hell _ she was talking about.

“You knew what, Luna?” Harry asked, his voice carefully calm. Draco could feel the tension radiating off of him, so he knew Harry was skating along the boundary of his control.

“I knew you two belonged together. And I knew exactly how to fulfill my mother’s life debt to Lily Potter.  _ Munia Enitor. _ But I had to wait until you were ready. I nearly tried to tell you when you two finally stopped fighting fate and got together, but Lily said it wasn’t time.”

Harry swallowed, a shiver of the fear many people felt around Luna tingling down his spine for the first time. Luna thought she’d had conversations with his mother?

“The dead never truly leave us, Harry,” Luna said gently, looking at him with something akin to pity. “They remain tethered to those who loved them in life, guiding them and protecting them.”

She paused, looking back over her shoulder at his parents’ grave.

“They love you very much. And they are so very, very proud of you,” she said softly. Harry’s eyes pricked with tears at hearing the words he’d so desperately hoped to hear, the answers to questions that had plagued him year after year and kept him coming to the graveyard every Nov. 1.

“Lily wishes you’d chosen a safer profession, but she knows you’re good at what you do,” Luna said, startling a laugh out of Harry. “And despite your worries, James is nothing but proud of the choices you’ve made in your life.  _ All  _ of them.”

She gave Draco a significant look before turning her attention back to Harry, who was looking pale and shaky.

“His only regret is that the Potter legacy might die out with you,” she said, her soft smile confusing Harry. “Which is where I come in.”

Harry stared at her dumbly, completely lost. He expected to see a similar look of confusion on Draco’s face, but he was surprised to see the blond looking at Luna appraisingly, with something akin to respect.

“She’s offering to fulfill her life debt to your family by bearing a child for you,” he said softly, and Harry visibly flinched at his words. “ _ Munia Enitor.  _ A gift child. It’s an ancient tradition that hasn’t been practiced for centuries.”

“Luna –” Harry started, trailing off as he looked at her. She smiled serenely at him, her hands folded at her waist. “Luna, I can’t ask you to do something like that.”

She nodded solemnly, the look in her blue eyes more serious than he had ever seen it.

“You can’t,” she agreed, glancing at Draco. “The magic wouldn’t allow that. In order for it to work, the child has to be a gift given with no strings attached. No expectations. It must be the bearer’s idea.”

She heard Draco mouthing the words to himself, completely shell-shocked by the implications.  _ Munia Enitor _ would allow them to combine their magical essences and use them to impregnate Luna. Genetically, the child would be Luna and Harry’s, but magically, it would be  _ his _ and Harry’s, inheriting magical traits from both the Malfoy and Potter lines. In the past it had been used as restitution when a family’s heir had been killed in battle or, less commonly, when a couple found themselves unable to produce an heir. The spell had been altered three centuries ago, making it impossible to force a woman to be the  _ Enitor _ , or bearer, unless she was pure of heart and uncoerced. What Luna was offering to do was nothing short of amazing.

“So,” Luna said cheerfully, linking her arm through Harry’s. “Shall we make a baby? And then maybe we can have pancakes. I do so love pancakes.”

***

**Oct. 25, one year later**

Harry paced the waiting room at St. Mungo’s, agitating everyone with his nervous energy. Draco was in the delivery room with Luna – she’d kicked Harry out two hours ago, saying his inability to relax was making both her and the baby edgy – and he’d promised to come out as soon as there was any news to report, but Harry couldn’t help but worry about all the worst-case scenarios.

The irony of their child being born on the anniversary of the day they’d reconciled – six years later – wasn’t lost on him, and he briefly wondered if his mother had something to do with it. Luna’s due date was still two weeks away, but everyone, from the Healers to Molly to Bill, of all people, had reassured him that it was perfectly normal for a baby to be two weeks early.

He stared at the swinging doors again, willing Draco to appear and tell him everything was alright. He sighed and resumed his pacing after a few moments of scrutiny, his eyes trained on the floor as he walked. It had taken Luna a few months to convince them to take her up on her offer, but once they had, the spell had been surprisingly simple. And her pregnancy had been a relatively easy one – for  _ her.  _ Harry, on the other hand, had been a basket case, just like he was now.

“I  _ told _ you not to read  _ What to Expect When You’re Expecting _ ,” Hermione said for the fifth time, sighing at him as he turned to make another pass between the neat row of chairs occupied by every member of the Weasley family other than Ginny, who had moved to the States after being released from her rehabilitation program a year ago. Lucius and Narcissa were seated a bit further down, both of them staring at the doors to the maternity ward with the same intensity as Harry.

“I needed to be prepared,” Harry hissed, the heels of his shoes clicking against the linoleum as he continued to pace.

“You Firecalled the Healer in the middle of the night when Luna had a headache because you thought it was preeclampsia,” Hermione said dryly, raising an eyebrow at Harry.

“It  _ could  _ have been,” he said defensively, turning to make another round around the small space.

“You wouldn’t let Luna eat cheese because of listeria,” she said, crossing her arms.

“It’s a legitimate worry!”

“Not if it’s pasteurized, Harry,” Hermione sighed, shaking her head.

“The time you tried to sneak an iron potion into her juice because you thought she was anemic?”

“She was pale!”

“She’s always pale!” Hermione cried, throwing up her hands. “My point is, Harry, that if you hadn’t read that dratted book you wouldn’t have spent the last nine months driving everyone –  _ everyone _ – crazy with your needless worries.”

“Luna ‘as the patience of a saint,” Fleur said, shaking her head at Harry, who glared at her and resumed pacing.

“So does Draco,” Ron said, remembering the stories the blond had told him about exhaustive searches for fresh blueberries (“full of antioxidants”), middle of the night expeditions to find organic yogurt (“high in calcium”) and the mind-boggling assortment of whole grain pasta, rice and flour that he had to Apparate all over London to find. And that had all been at  _ Harry’s _ insistence, not Luna’s.

Deg shifted in the hard plastic chair next to Ron, watching Harry as the man resumed pacing. He eyed the empty chairs warily every time Harry passed them, since his control over his magic seemed to be slipping with each additional minute Luna was behind those doors.

“So do  _ we.” _

Everyone looked up when the swinging doors burst open, revealing a breathless and glowing Draco dressed in a strange set of blue robes. Harry remembered seeing the mediwitches and Healers wearing something similar and instantly panicked, but Draco drew him into a crushing hug before he could say anything.

“It’s a boy! A perfectly healthy, wonderful boy!” Draco cried, peppering Harry’s face with kisses. He released him, surprised to find himself being passed down a seemingly endless line of Weasleys, getting a hug and a kiss from each of them. Even his parents joined in, his mother shocking him when she swiped at tears running down her cheeks.

“Luna’s healthy as well. You can all come back in a few minutes. I want to take Harry back to see him first,” Draco said, pressing an impulsive kiss to his mother’s forehead before he grabbed Harry and dashed back through the doors.

“A boy,” Lucius said, shaking his head in wonder. A grandson. He had a grandson.

***

Harry could barely take his eyes off the sight of Draco and their son cuddled up together in a rocking chair under the window, both fast asleep. True to her word, Luna had handed the baby over with no hesitation, filling him yet again with awe that she could be so selfless. He felt privileged to have her in his life, and they’d made her the baby’s godmother to ensure she continued to be a part of it.

His life. Harry’s lips curved into a smile as he leaned against the doorframe, admiring the way the moonbeam glinted off the two blond heads. He’d never anticipated that he and Draco could have a child together, but here he was. A child of his blood who shared both his and Draco’s magic. It was truly a miracle, and he felt blessed beyond words, and completely at ease with himself and his life for the first time ever. Being with Draco had made him feel stable and steady, but the three of them together made him feel nothing short of  _ whole. _

He stepped forward when the baby’s eyes blinked open, a brief flash of bright green, before closing again as he fell back to sleep. Harry wondered if he should take him and put him in the crib so Draco could get to bed, but he couldn’t bear to break up the beautiful picture they made. He decided to leave them alone, using the quiet time to put away some of the seemingly endless laundry their tiny son generated daily.

As Harry moved toward the chest they used to store clothes, a glint of gold caught his eye. His father’s pocket watch. He sat the basket of clean laundry down, reaching for the watch on a whim. He’d have to get Hermione to show him the charm to add their son’s name to the list. He opened the catch to read through the list of names again, his heart thudding in his chest when he realized his son’s name was already there. He snapped the casing shut, turning it over in his palm, nearly dropping it in his haste. His eyes filled with tears when he realized the inscription on the back had changed, making it truly  _ his _ watch now.

“ _ To my son, Harry James Potter, commemorating the birth of his own son, Orion Harry Potter-Malfoy. ‘Never doubt that you, and he, are loved.’ 25 October, 2012. James Ignotus Potter” _

Harry stared at the watch in wonder for a few moments, raising the cold metal to his lips and pressing a kiss against it before sliding it into his pocket. He grabbed a blanket from a nearby footstool, draping it over both Draco and Orion before kissing both of them and easing out of the room. One thing was for certain: He had no doubt at all that he was loved.

–End–


End file.
